Rotkäppchen
by iram0123
Summary: Finishing her business with a friend in Germany, Nancy returns to her home and continues on with her normal life. She thinks everything will go smoothly with a grin on her face, but after receiving an eerie warning message from her friend, she has to run. Though, she can't get far. The young woman had bitten more than she can chew, without knowing.
1. Chapter 1: It all begins with a toast

_Chapter 1: It all begins with a toast_

* * *

 _(October 17_ _th,_ _1998)_

 _Dear diary, it has been over a year, since I decided to write on you. Honestly, this feels like you can actually help me, right now. The last time I wrote was over two months ago. I have been a little busy with Ed, to be quite honest… And it is exhaustingly hard for me to continue going on with him in a completely foreign country no less! Luckily, this is my last day in here and then I can go back home and relax… for a day._

 _Currently, I am sitting on a couch while Ed is passed out on the floor (not the first time). But I would at least expect him to be awake to get ready for his childhood friend's (me) departure! But no! He is asleep, passed out, in a_ _ **coma**_ _on the floor with three bottles all around him! Ugh! It smells horrible in here! Well, can't say that I am any better, for my clothes are covered in this horrible stench. I want to take a bath, but for some unknown reason I wanted to spill all of my emotions on you first, dear diary. Feel privileged._

 _I miss mother and Michael. I have sent them messages during the time of my whole stay… But I am not going to be crying over for them this time. I already wrote two months ago over three pages purely about them and don't feel like doing the same now. I have made my point._

 _Back to the idiot-of-a-friend on the floor. I am resisting an urge to smack and shake him awake, because we have to get moving in less than two hours. True, I have packet my things and am ready to drive myself to the airport, but that would mean nobody would drive the car back here and Edmund would be left without a vehicle… Truth to be told, that may not be such a bad idea. I am the one who has been driving it almost constantly these past months while he falls asleep on the passenger seat! The nerve!_

 _Well, he may be an idiot while drunk, but he is also a good friend in the end… The cheesy part is from the alcohol, not me. It is still in my system. Do they allow me into the plane like this, though? Oh, well. I will take a bath with a heavy smelling shampoo._

 _Ed has done more than enough for me. I feel guilty from what I have done and how depended I am of him. I am pathetic to rely on means like these to get some cash into my pockets, but isn't that only natural?_

 _I just…_ _ **need**_ _this._

 _Regret is eating me alive, though. I never wanted my life to end up like this. Even now, tears are stinging my eyes._

 _Anyway, I am going to spill the beans and get this over with. Maybe it will relief some of my stress before the flight back to Britain._

 _The day has been a long one and it has lasted over a long night…_

* * *

The air is freezing, numbing to the bone. The men standing at guard near the modest gate of an old building change their turn with other of their comrades. Few speak for a minute, letting out white puffs of air out of their mouths, before getting back to their posts. The night falls into another deafening silence and the cold breeze continue passing by. This must be one of the coldest weather during this autumn, and it isn't even winter yet. During the day, the sun had still been shining warmly, though.

My heartbeat has been rising steadily until now. I can feel how my sweaty hands are almost sliding off from the wheel and I bite down on my lip for the hundredth time. Things aren't moving forward according to the schedule.

It is way past one in the morning. To be precise, fifteen minutes past one. And that is worrisome, because Edmund is late.

If he has been spotted, they will start to search the area. Swallowing thickly, I start to carefully play with the car's keys. Five minutes left, Ed. Hurry up!

This isn't the first time I am doing this… but it is the first time that my partner is this late. It is truly scary to simply sit inside this car, hiding many feet away from our target building and hoping – praying that I won't be spotted.

No matter how many times I am dragged into these kinds of gigs, they are nerve-wracking every single time.

Edmund had assured me that this one would be easy… But I am not sure about all of this anymore. The security seems tighter than what he originally descried as. Though, he supposedly was right about the basement door at the back, for he didn't return to the car forty-five minutes ago. So, he definitely found the way in, but I am not sure, if nothing has happened inside.

The inside air, even without the engine on, is starting to feel suffocating and hot. I can't stop myself from opening the window slightly and letting the cold night air in, shivering from its contact against my sweaty face. I wipe away a drop and then grip the wheel a moment after. The street lights are too bright.

Two minutes, Ed. If you don't show up, I will-

The door on the other side of the car is opened and I nearly shriek from the sound and feeling of a large breeze flow in. Goosebumps appear under the sleeves of my coat and my whole body grows rigid from tension.

For a second, I think that I have been found, but then…

"Drive!" Edmund hisses, closing the door firmly and buckles himself.

The tension drops and my heart that almost jumped out of my ribcage calms down. Nodding, I turn on the car and listen for a second the engine hum, before taking off. The wheels move smoothly against the uneven road and our road is lightened up by the car's light.

Driving out from between the trees, I glance towards the mansion once more and then immediately lock my gaze on the route ahead. The large building had been so far away, but I can still see the small forms of the guards near the gates.

The black-haired man next to me starts to ruffle his sweat covered locks and it is this moment that I choose as an opportunity to talk.

"What took you so long?" I ask calmly, but deep inside I fear someone may have seen him.

He shrugs few dead leaves off from his jacket's shoulder and I resist an urge to smack him across the head for dirtying my car. "I had to hide for a while, because someone came into the same hallway I was about to use," Edmund says in one breath and inhales deeply and exhales just as loudly. "But don't worry. That person was an old maid, so I am sure she didn't suspect anything."

"You ask to not worry? That old maid could have had the eyes of a hawk for all you know!" I hiss, much like he had moments ago while entering the car.

My partner-in-crime harrumphs and trumps his gloved fingers against the case on his lap. "Well, no need to sweat over small details. I got the documents."

I resist an urge to slam my forehead against the horn. Small details? I will show you small, when we get arrested for this! I take in a shuddering breath, trying to calm the irritation and stress that has formed over the night. It weights heavily on my shoulders and I bite down on my lower lip. Once again, I have helped my friend commit a crime without much of an argument beforehand. It is my choice, so I should know at least that this feeling would come over and over again., if I will continue doing these things.

This isn't safe, or normal. To drive a housebreaker into safety makes me an equal with him and I can be blamed severely for this. I can acknowledge that, but…

"I will pay you once we reach my house," Edmund says, cutting off any sort of guilty consciousness I might have. He glances at me. "Five hundred pounds, right?"

I glance back at him for a second, looking over his blank features to the black rings under his eyes. "Just half the price."

"No way," he answers immediately, sounding somewhat displeased from my suggestion.

"You have already given me more than enough money to survive for a year or two. Plus, you will be also paying my plane tickets, so I can't really take much from you."

Edmund shakes his head and looks ahead. "No. I dragged you into this and made you a criminal."

I wince from the word. Guilt and little shame hammering holes into my chest. My hands tighten on the wheel and I make a turn to the left, seeing the busier road approaching. "I-I… I chose this, Ed. If I didn't want to help you or generally do this, I could have said no to the money. Besides, you have chosen places where it would be nearly impossible for someone to find out about us… This place was also like that, right?"

He lets out a small smirk. "Wow. You sure sound doubtful."

"Can you answer my question, please?"

"Relax, relax. The security seemed tough and all, but most of them were playing poker inside the security room," Edmund says nonchalantly, sliding some of his stray strands off from his forehead.

I snort, tiredness making me start a full-blown laugher inside the car. The road is filled with more lights, so some almost blind me with brightness. "That sounds like something out of a movie!"

"Hey, hey! Eyes on the road!" The black-haired man grabs both his case and seat in panic, when the car almost slides off from the road.

I also notice this error in my driving and quickly straighten the vehicle, cold sweat dripping down my back. There is an itchy feeling at the back of my throat to laugh again for being an idiot, but the sound of Edmund's deep sigh makes me think twice. Carefully, I glance at him to see gloved fingers clutching the case close to his chest, drops of sweat glittering near the hairline.

He is exhausted. It can be seen easily from the worn-out face to the way his eyelids droop half-way shut. The body language he uses is alerting, as well. The drumming of his hand against the object in his lap is becoming annoying. Putting me on the edge as well. I know he is trying to stay calm, but he is anything but that.

The thing he searched for the most… The case is made out of black plastic. It is simple, with two locks on either sides and an equally dark handle in the middle. The reason this whole mess started. I turn my eyes back on the road and try to ignore the sound of his fingertips hitting the case repeatedly in perfect sync. My own fingers tighten around the wheel. It is hard not to acknowledge the nagging, curious voice inside of my head. Edmund and I have been through enough as it is tonight, and we are not completely out of the woods just yet. It is better not to bring up things that either of the two of us could get spiked up from.

But, truth to be told, Edmund hasn't revealed much of what he has stolen this time. Just that there are few documents he wanted to get, and now he has them.

What is so important about them, that he wants to do this sort of thing? All I know, is that it is really important to him.

Too personal.

Then why did he ask me for help?

"Nancy," once again, Edmund snaps me back and seems to try relaxing in his seat. "I swear to you, this is the last one. I will never ask any favors from you ever again."

"Woah! Where does this come from?" I chuckle awkwardly. His voice sounds so serious, almost like a deadpan, which means he isn't joking around, and it surprises me. Well, this night isn't something we should be joking about in the first place.

"I am serious."

"I can tell," I say. I want to smile goofily, to lighten up the atmosphere, so I do that. "But don't you worry! I am your friend after all."

Edmund lets out a tired sigh. "Nancy. You do realize that you have committed crimes with me, right? You can get a free pass to jail like this. And I know you did all of this just because you needed money."

The smile slips away from my mouth from the blunt tone he uses. My hands tighten even further around the wheel to the point I think my knuckles are turning white under the leather gloves. Refusing to even glance at Edmund anymore, I keep my eyes firmly on the road. However, trying to ignore his existence is not a way to erase what he has said. Something feels like it is squeezing my heart and my muscles stiffen the more I replay his words in my head.

He makes it all sound even more wrong to be driving this car to our safe-haven five hours away. He has made me feel dirty all over and my stomach clenches. It may be that he wants me to regret all of this. Why else would he try to do this to me?

When we started this, he had used the same trick. Like to ward me off, despite the fact he needed help. Gradually, Edmund had stopped, but to hear him say such things at the end of our last gig… It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It is ominous, but understandable. He has always been an honest man, ever since he was a child. Raised in a Christian family with obedience. Do not steal, do not lie, respect your parents, serve the Lord. These things he has done with me go against his very life teachings. And I can only imagine how he feels about it. My family isn't that devoted to faith in God or any religion.

But it is because he is acting so out of character, that I have come this far. Despite us being separated by his family's move to another country, we have been as thick as thieves since we were little.

Filled with determination from fond childhood memories, I take in a deep breath. "You are right… A-about the money," I say the words carefully, feeling even more shame. "B-but… As I said before, you are my friend. I want to help you. Even if you don't pay me for this last gig, I am grateful to you for giving me an opportunity to gather some profit."

Ed doesn't say anything for a while. I also don't open my mouth.

"…How is your brother and mother doing?" He suddenly asks, but with more lighter tone than before.

I perk up from his question and a small smile spreads on my lips. "Quite well, actually. Michael is the same old troublemaker – Oh! And mom absolutely loves the dress you sent her a year ago."

"She still wears that?"

"Yeah!" I laugh. Finally, the tenseness in the car can be changed.

The main road is in sight and our car drives across the road, with the first signs of laughter on both mine and Edmund's faces.

And, we both can forget the sins we have carried out, for a little while.

* * *

As carefully as I can, I open the half-open door into the warm, but small room. The smell of old books is the first bitter scent that hits me, and I frown, before quietly making my way towards the bed. The floor creaks under my weight and the sound makes me freeze like a mouse about to face a cat.

My gaze darts up to my friend's face, which doesn't even twitch from the noise I have made. Though, he still has dark rings under his eyes, he doesn't look pale like during the night. In fact, he looks calmer, now that he is having bunch of papers scattered all across his lap and legs. Which is a shock, because you would think he would treat them better.

Taking his silence as a somewhat positive sign, I tiptoe to his side and sit down on his bed. Avoiding the old documents, I come closer so that we can feel the other's body heat. "Ed, would you like to eat? You only ate an apple, when we came."

"…No, thank you."

Well, he still seems to have manners. That is good, right?

Slowly, my eyes drag themselves on a single paper he is holding almost limply. "Soooo… This is the thing you have struggled to hold for a while, huh? What is it? Don't tell me it is government's secret document?"

"It belonged to my great-grandfather," Edmund says quietly and brushes his thumb across one line.

… **.**

I stiffen, totally not expecting that. I have driven Ed to different kinds of places, so he could break into different kinds of houses like a master burglar, but not once has something like this turned up to be the object he has wanted to steal. Sure, the other objects he had stolen had also been documents and sometimes he had come back empty handed. But, to hear from Edmund himself admit he has stolen something that belonged to a member of his family, makes my brain turn off for a minute.

Shocked, ashamed and embarrassed, I start to look around the room while mentally starting to scold myself for being stupid. Idiot, moron, imbecile! Think before you open your mouth!

I want to apologize, like properly. I am sitting so close to my friend that it is suffocating and painful to not try and to move a little bit away from him. And not because I am afraid that Ed would actually start being angry at me, but from realizing I might have insulted something sacred and important to his family.

But the only thing that comes out of my mouth amongst the horror and regret is: "Oh… Sorry."

Edmund shrugs, not looking a bit bothered. "'s alright. He wasn't even around, when I was born."

"Oh."

"You don't have to feel bad about it."

"...Okay," I meekly squeak out. Shoulders tense and face firm, I move around a little and try to get comfortable with the silence.

Edmund's great-grandfather… The papers start to look more interesting and childish curiosity whispers for me to reach out and look at one of them. The yellowish papers have much writing on them in a very small handwriting, so I can't exactly see what is in them from this distance. But, the more I look at all of them, the more I become aware how many there are. And a question pops into my mind. Why were these in the mansion?

The owner of that place is, according to Edmund, an old man with too much hobbies. So, did his grandfather and that old man know each other in the past for these documents to end up in the hands of someone with no blood-relation?

"Do you know the owner of that mansion?" I ask quietly, despite the fact that I had been embarrassed just few moments ago from opening my big mouth.

"Nope. Never met him," Ed answers immediately and folds the piece of paper in his hands with utmost care.

"Then, did your great-grandfather know him?"

He shrugs. "According to what my grandma told me, they met few times in the past."

The mention of another one of his relatives makes me smile. I knew his grandmother in the past, when she was still around and alive. She had been such a nice old woman. Now, even more curious, I relax. "Did these documents end up into his hands, because your great-grandfather gave them-"

"No. They were stolen as soon as he died," Edmund cuts my question off with that sentence.

"…Rude," I mutter out, but then straighten up in panic. This conversation might become something overly sensitive. "Y-you don't have to talk about it."

We fall into a short silence, but it isn't as heavy as the previous ones during these past twenty-four hours. I can literally feel how Edmund thinks what he is going to say next. From the crease between his dark brows to way he twitches his thumbs against one another, Edmund looks to be deep in his own thoughts.

The curiosity for these documents and worry for my friend's wellbeing soon fade, when I let out a small yawn. I did sleep around two hours earlier, but it is not enough to replace the missing amount of sleep I didn't get during driving back and forth over ten hours. I rub my tired eyes, repeatedly telling myself not to fall asleep on the spot in Edmund's bed. He also needs his sleep and I have to make sure he does get it. Though, it is somewhat shocking how he can still even keep his own eyes half-way open with the dark bags that are under them.

My eyes close for a few seconds to rest, but then snap wide open, when I feel the gravity getting a hold of me. Nah. Nope! There is no way I will keep staying awake for him much longer. Maybe I will just go to sleep and let him snooze off on his own.

Edmund suddenly nudges me to the side of my arm with his elbow. "Hey, Nancy. You better not be falling asleep on me."

"Hmm…" I hum and rub the spot he hit. "Be gentle… I drove for hours and slept only two… And this bed of yours is really comfy."

A second later, he chuckles and starts to poke my side. "Get out of here."

I twitch obviously from the contact on a sensitive spot and catch his hand in mine. "Stop it."

"You have your own bed."

I grin widely. "But it is too far away."

"You want a drink?" Ed asks back with just as much cheekiness on his own grin as mine.

I perk up from the mention of a drink, but then frown and lower his hand before letting go. "I don't know. I should really go to sleep, so I can even stay awake in the airport."

"Don't worry," Edmund says and stands up without waiting for my next reply. The papers in his laps, the ones he hadn't bothered removing, scatter and float in the air before disappearing behind the bed's edge. He stretches few times, earning pops from his bones and joints, and lets out a satisfied sigh with a small smile. "Only one cup for you and ten for me."

From that, I bark out a laugh and lay fully across his bed. "You do that, and you will be unconscious when I leave."

"Unlike certain someone," he starts with another grin, "I can actually hold my liquor."

My smile falls, and I roll to my stomach and hug the nearest pillow. "Shut up."

The black-haired man lets out a laugh and disappears from the room. I feel somewhat irritated from his comment, but soon find myself smiling against the softness of the pillow. It smells like the house itself. Books, coffee with little bit of smoke from tobacco. He really should stop trying to destroy his lungs.

Sighing, I roll back to my back and look up at the ceiling with a thoughtful face. After this, in few hours, I will go to the airport, enter the airplane and fly back home with my credit card enough money to pay for my mother's hospital bills, enough money to buy my brother and for myself new clothes and stuff. We will have everything for a while and it is all thanks to Edmund. If he hadn't really even considered revealing his plans to me… then this year would have become more depressing for me.

I have to work, look after my brother and mother. Things have been like this for two years, and the wounds from what happened to my father are still fresh. He died from cancer, and the money we got from his insurance was enough. Until mother also succumbed to illness. With the money I have now though, she will be getting much better soon enough and will be able to finish her treatment.

I am a criminal, though. I sit up and put the pillow back down with a heavy heart. Dad, forgive me, but with you gone there is no way we can be happy otherwise. He had been the main provider, in the first place. Someone who kept our family together.

I regret but am also happy from what I have done. The money I have received is from a good friend who needed help, so that washes away a little part of my guilt. But, nobody has gotten hurt, nor was this last trip such a bad thing. Edmund simply got back what belongs rightfully to his family. So, my hands are not fully stained.

Guilty.

The door opens, and Ed walks in with two glasses and a single bottle in his hands. I smile at him tiredly and he returns it with a quirk of a lip and a raise of a bottle.

"The strongest one in the house," he says proudly and lowers the glasses on the table, before opening the bottle with a 'pop'.

"Nice, " I say and raise a thumb up. Then, slowly I glance between Edmund and the remaining papers on the bed. Hesitantly, I reach out to one of them, but just when my fingertips touch it I pull my hand back. "Can I… Is it okay, if I take a look at these?"

The alcohol is dripping down into the first mug, but stops, when its pourer pauses. He takes one look at me and then shrugs. "Sure. Why not."

"You sure?" I ask with a small smile making its way to my face. He nods, and I mentally cheer, before reaching out again and taking the nearest one. Fearing I might make the paper crumble in my hands, I lower it to my lap and start to trail my finger against the words. The writing is truly small and the curves it has seem very old-fashioned, but beautiful, as well. I have only seen something like this in pictures, but to hold a very old document is pretty exciting. I feel like a spy.

However, my excitement and joy dims, when I see what exactly is written on the old paper. "Is this all… in German?"

Edmund snorts and his shoulders start to shake. "Y-yeah."

My eyebrow twitch and I glare at his back. "You are finding this funny, aren't you?"

He is cracking. "Y-yes."

"You know damn well that I don't know how to read this thing!"

"Bwahahaha!" Edmund finally gives up trying to hold back his amusement and slaps his knee with every moment his shoulder shake. His expression is the brightest he has worn today. "Oh, my! You should have seen the look on your face!"

I huff and cross my arms, letting the document fall to the side. "You know what? Laugh! Laugh at my liquor and language skills. Butthead."

"Sorry, sorry! Don't be mad," he chuckles, but isn't looking well enough to calm down from his amusement. As soon as he looks at my frowning face, he bursts out laughing, again.

Well, at least he is in a better mood. Huffing again, I cross my arms. How I wish he would just get drunk and knock himself out already.

Deciding that he isn't worth my time or patience, I look back at the document I dropped. It is true that I can't read almost anything in German, expect for few greetings. But that doesn't mean I don't recognize names or numbers. There are clear numbers of a date and year in the right upper corner and it dates back to 1940. My brain racks with information and then I realize it has been written in the second world war. Intrigued, I look for more clues to know what is being said in the paper and can recognize the name 'Berlin' along with some other ones that seem to belong to people. Honestly, now that I get a much better look at the document it looks more like a list. The words written with capital letters have all been separated by small dots.

The man who wrote these… I wonder what his profession was. I think about a scientist, or perhaps a researcher, but I can't really be sure. Who knows. Maybe he was a pope who wrote his thoughts into these papers? It can be possible, now that I really think about it.

"Here," Edmund says and holds out a mug to me.

I reach out and take it, feeling the weight of the liquid adding to the mug's. "Shall we make a toast?"

My friend smiles a little and nods.

We both raise our hands, keeping the mugs from barely touching each other. I turn my eyes away from them to look at Edmund into the eyes. They are solid blue. Clear and the short curtain of his wavy hair shadows the deep stress lines of his forehead. With this over, I wish for him and I to relax, at least for a little while. But, it is obvious that what we have done can't be taken back.

"This was all for the sake of your family, yes?" I ask with a what I hope is a neutral tone. But my hand is shaking.

"Yeah."

"You promise me never to never do anything like this again?"

The look in his eyes changes, and he straightens up, the free hand reaching towards a Rosario around his neck. "Yes… I so sorry for getting you mixed up in this."

"…You promised me that we never would get caught," I start taking in a shaky breath. I don't even allow a peaceful silence to settle in first. "I trust you as a friend in that. Even though you have not cleared to me what good will come to your family for this."

He smiles a little sadly, nostalgically. "These documents were something my grandma wanted. Even in her deathbed she wished to get these."

…Oh. So now you are playing the guilt-card?

I sigh, shoulders somewhat relaxing. "You should have told me sooner. I would have not felt so bad about this for half-a-year, then."

His smile fades, and a frown appear on his face. "I am sorry."

"You should be," I mutter, but then shake my head. "Oh, well. What is done is done."

"Nancy. I have been very careful with how the things have progressed. I would never allow either of us getting caught or harmed because of this," Edmund grips his mug tighter. "I am sorry."

His words make my chest tighten for the thousandth time. I can't breathe and lower my eyes for a moment, feeling a heavy weight on my shoulders gradually growing into a boulder. After all this time, I only am hearing these kinds of words coming out of his mouth today. Sure, Ed had tried to convince me out of this deal more than few times, but never apologized for what he dragged me into. I have until now simply blamed myself and all of this as the result of my own decision and consciousness to help him out. I still do think like that, but if he continues speaking like this, I might actually start blaming him for ruining half of the year.

I need the money. I needed all of this. Despite constantly repeating these lines in my head, I wanted to go back in time and stop myself from coming to Germany. Now that

"Alright, you know what?" I scoot closer and click our drinks together. "Stop saying sorry, because you got what you wanted, I got what I wanted, but we both made out of this ordeal alive and in some ways well. So, cheers to the victory and for the money I got from this."

Without waiting for his reply, I gulp down the alcohol. The burning sensation in my throat makes me cringe, though. But then I relax, when warmth spreads all across my body and a pleasant shiver runs down my spine. This isn't enough to wipe my worries away, but at least it will keep my friend silent and from saying anything further.

I can't erase what I have done, but the rush of adrenaline is something I can't deny. I have had fun. I have laughed, cried and worried sick to the point of fearing white hairs coming early on top of my head. People out in the world have done much worse things than I. I have simply helped Ed get something which is lawfully his. There is nothing to regret… _Oh, who am I kidding? I will regret this my whole life._

The thoughts must have kept me too occupied in my mind, because by the time I lower my mug it is completely empty.

Blinking, I look up at Edmund with an awestruck expression and point at the depth where the alcohol used to be in. "Look! I actually drank all of it! High five!"

His blue eyes look between my open hand to the grinning expression on my face. He seems ready to say something, from his half-open mouth to the small sound in the back of his throat. I can even see how his eyes are starting to water, which makes me think he is about to cry as well… But then he lets out a sigh and slaps his own limb against mine. There is a loud 'smack' in the air and it breaks any tension left in my body and my grin just widens.

"Honestly, you're unbelievable," he breathes out and then starts to drink as well.

"But that is why you love me."

"Yeah, right."

I laugh and double over. The alcohol is too strong for me to stay sane for a long time.

Ed raises his glass again and says simple words, before taking a final, large gulp: "Sieg heil _,_ Nancy."

* * *

 _See, dear diary? It is finally over. And now that I have recalled everything and written it down, I don't feel so bad anymore. Is this normal? I could care less. It is best for me to stay in denial._

 _This whole day has filled over five pages and now my arm is just hurting. My eyes are tired, my body is tired from the lack of sleep. I could have slept as soon as I took my first glass, but I didn't. It is not because of guilt, though. Nor the excitement from knowing I can go home soon (maybe a little). It is because my head is starting to hurt. The migraine is back, again. The alcohol in me must be gone by now, for it doesn't work on the pain anymore. I can't take the risk of eating painkillers because I still drank, though._

 _Why is human body like this, anyway?! Can't I take whatever I want, whenever I want?! This is like trying to lose weight! You are hungry and want to eat a big, greasy hamburger, but it has been forbidden from your diet and causes your stomach to be upset!_

 _That's it! I am going to wake Ed up with a bucket of cold water! We have only half-hours left before we must go!_

 _Nancy, out._

* * *

The daily schedule of a Head Maid is nothing to gloat about. Especially, if this maid is one of the eighteen working in a small sized mansion. True, to those who haven't seen bigger ones will always think this building looks magnificent, but it is true quite modest.

But it is because it isn't _so_ big, that it is easier to take care of it every week. The Head Maid must always rise first, even before the other maids, and start to prepare herself for the daily tasks. She will make sure that the breakfast will be delivered exactly on time to the master of the household, watch the maids starting their chores, inspects their outfits and looks and how they work around the clock. Of course, there is much more than that to it. Lunch, snack with freshly brewed tea, then dinner, evening meal and tea must all be carefully inspected.

Even now, the eldest woman in the house is pouring hot water on top of the tea leaves and placing it on a silver tray. It would be finished by the time she would take it to the master.

She has never let anyone serve morning tea to the master, never in her years of serving in this estate. The Head maid is a perfect model of a German maid. Hair up in a tight bun with a sturdy body. The wrinkles on her face are simply a mark of experience.

 _Do not be late._

As if reading that it is time to recall that simple rule, the wooden clock's hands move forward. The Head Maid straightens and takes the full weight of the tray into her hands. She immediately knows where she must be headed.

The master rose unusually early this morning. But that is to be expected, since he has done so every now and then for the past year. You can never really tell when he feels like sleeping late or too little. Thus, today he will be having the breakfast and tea in his office.

" _Ma'am!"_ Another maid almost runs into her on the way out.

She gives her a scandalous stare. _"Goodness gracious! What has made you run across this mansion's floors!"_

" _I-I beg your pardon, ma'am,"_ the young maid quickly apologizes modestly, beats of sweat sliding down her forehead. With wide eyes, she stands stiffly before her superior.

Impatient with hurry, the Head Maids stares down at her distastefully. _"Well? What is it? Speak up already!"_

" _I-it is the master, ma'am,"_ the maid answers in one breath, shoulders falling and rising heavily.

" _Hm? What is this about the master?"_ The Head Maid's frowns deepen.

" _H-he…"_ the young maid struggles to gain control of her breath, but that doesn't seem to be the main problem for why she is pausing all of sudden.

" _Spit it out! Has something happened to the master!?"_ Now, the elder woman is starting to feel anxious from both not knowing and from the younger maid's body language. Her heartbeat rises with every second.

Flinching from the loud order, the young woman opens her mouth and stammers: _"H-he is o-out of control."_

" _What? What is that supposed to mean?"_

The young woman's lower lip starts to tremble, and she quickly glances towards the stairway she came from. _"P-please, ma'am! You m-must help u-us! Th-the other s-servants are-"_

She doesn't get to finish the sentence, when there are loud screams coming from the upper floor. It freezes the air filled with the warm scent of the tea and bread and the Head Maid nearly drops the tray in shock. She listens again, only to hear the screams repeat themselves and commotion grow louder. Something is happening to her master.

Not wasting a second, she lowers the tray and quickly starts to run up the stairs with her thick dress's hem gathered up in both of her hands. The young woman follows quickly after, worry and fear drawn on her features. The closer they get to the place where the screams are coming from, the faster the Head Maid's and slower the lesser maid's steps become. One doesn't know what is going on, while the other one has a very vivid knowledge of what is happening.

The old woman was right to assume that the owner of the house is in some kind of trouble. The screams are coming from his study and its wooden doors are wide open. Few maids stand near it while holding each other, along with couple butlers. All of them having distress and fear as their expressions.

Not liking what she is already seeing, the Head Maid raises her own voice over the racket. _"What is going on in here?!"_

They all flinch, over six pairs of eyes whipping towards the approaching German woman with fear of cornered animals. One of the butlers speaks up. _"M-ma'am."_

" _Where is the master?"_ She asks sharply and receives pointed fingers towards the study as an answer.

" _M-master, pl-please calm-"_

" _Shut up! Who was the last person to enter this room!? Tell me right this instant, or I shall slice your gut wide open!"_ The last voice shouts angrily. Like a mad man ready to fulfill his threat.

The old woman feels a strange chill go down her spine and hurriedly walks in but freezes on her steps from what waits for her.

The room is a complete mess. Large number of books from shelves scattered across the floor near the bookshelf, hundreds of papers laying against the mattress and the dark desk at the end of the room. The lamp that used to be on top of it is on the ground, shattered and pieces of sharp glass glitter against the painfully bright sunlight that is let in through a large window. The shadows of the people are large because of the light, as well. But none are as threatening looking and dangerous, as that of a skinny elder man with a mad glint in his eyes and bony fingers clutching the collar of an equally old butler. The servant man looks terrified to the way his whole body seems to tremble.

The Head Maid can't move. Her whole body refuses to and the air stops flowing into her large lungs for a moment that feels like an eternity. Small sobbing catches her attention through the master's yelling and she looks to the side to see a maid crouching there with two others shielding her from both sides. Still, they are all shaking and two have already burst into clear tears.

Then, the old woman sees what the girl in the middle is holding. Her cheek, which is swollen and red, large crocodile tears rolling down them.

 _The master had hit her._

It isn't that hard to tell from the condition of the room to the servants who look ready to make a run for their lives.

For the first time, the Head Maid of the mansion does not know what to do. So, she cries out: _"Master! What are you doing!?"_

Hearing her panicked stricken voice, the man's wild looking eyes slice their way to her smaller form. _"You! Tell me who was in this room!?"_

Despite not keeping his attention on the butler anymore, the master still shakes his almost limp form violently. The old man looks ready to pass out from the lack of oxygen and the Head Maid takes a step forward.

" _Master! You must calm yourself! You are choking Mr. Albert!"_

From her words, the old butler is released, and he crumbles down in a coughing fit. Gasping for air like water while extremely thirsty. The Head Maid's and everyone's relief is sort live, though. The master makes his way towards her next, and his steps are threateningly loud.

This man, the one who she has served for over forty years, reaches out and grabs her by the collar, just like with the butler. She feels how the already firm and tight fabric tightens further around her thick neck, cutting large amount of her air supply off and leaving her breathless. Her eyes rise fearfully towards the larger male who glowers down at her like a beast. His eyes glimmer with sharpness unlike she has ever seen. The strands of the usually well-kept hair are sticking to different directions and the wrinkles on his face deepen the anger on his expression.

The servants gasp, when he starts to shake her much more violently than with Mr. Albert. _"Answer me! You wench!"_

If it wasn't for the fact that she is in shock from being manhandled and choke, the old maid would have gasped in horror. Her master has never, ever, called her something like _that._

" _M-master!"_ She tries to pry his fingers off with her own shaky ones, but with no avail. His grip is made out of iron.

" _Are you deaf as well!? Who was the last person to enter my study!?"_ The master growls, spits the words out.

The old maid's ears are ringing from the volume, but she realizes that if she doesn't answer quickly, she will get choked to death. _"I-it w-was me, sir!"_

The air freezes, coldness can be sensed by every person who watches the scene in utter, terrified silence. But nobody seems to have enough courage to help the superior maid. After all, the master who never mistreated her or the old butler, his most loyal and oldest servants, is currently handling them with roughness of a fierce animal.

The maid feels the fingers tightening, clenching her collar to the point she hears the bones in them pop. Somehow, she just knows that the answer would result in something worse than this. She can already see it through her blurry vision, when master's face twitches into a stone mask of pure white rage. He is deadly pale all of sudden, but the shouting has kept his cheeks red.

" _Where did you take them?"_ He asks slowly, with much lower volume than before.

The old maid stiffens, fearing the cold calmness of his tone. _"T-take w-what, s-sir?"_

" _DON'T MESS WITH ME!"_

The world spins around the old maid, and a second later she finds the air being knocked out of her from the impact on her back. The back of her head makes a painful contact with the stone-cold floor and bright stars fill her eyes. Screams and gasps enter through her ringing ears, but she does not have time to register her situation fully. All she feels, is terror for her own life and curls up from the sharp pain all around her body. She fears something might be broke.

Over fifty years of service and respect are shattered at this moment.

The master looms over the half-conscious old woman who groans weakly. But in his eyes is anything but pity. Without missing a beat, he raises a metal stick from the fireplace and slams it down.

The Head Maid screams weakly from the new impact. The spot where the pain shot from throbs and her body shakes like a leaf.

" _I ASKED YOU WHERE THEY ARE! YOU COW! THIEF! WENCH! WHORE!"_ With every insult being spit out, the stick is brought down again and again.

" _Ma'am!" The maids scream in horror._

" _Master, please stop!"_

" _He is going to kill her!"_

" _Hurry! Someone, help!"_

" _Call the police!"_

It is like the fiftieth strike is enough to make all the men in the room move and they approach the master. As he is ready to strike the poor old woman again, they wrap their arms tightly around his limbs, refusing to let their master go for their own sake and for his as well.

One younger maid quickly scurries her way to the old Head Maid who has stopped moving. Worried, she places her hands on her wide shoulder and shakes her carefully. When there is only a weak groan as an answer, the young maid frowns in concern and rolls her over to her back. She gasps from seeing a trail of blood on the side of her head.

" _Help! Ma'am is bleeding!"_ She screams in desperation, looking around for anyone to help her stabilize the old woman. Though, she doubts anyone in this house knows how.

The master, however, looks like he could care less about the condition his servant is in. He struggles against the others who hold him back from lunging at the poor old maid, again. _"I order you to release me at once! Where is it!? Where are they!?"_

His dilated pupils narrow, and he opens his mouth widely. It almost looks like his face might split in two.

" _WHERE ARE THEY!?"_


	2. Chapter 2: Do not answer the phone

_Chapter 2: Do not answer the phone_

* * *

 _(February 3_ _rd_ _, 1999)_

 _Dear diary… Something weird has happened. I do not know how_ _ **exactly**_ _it is possible, but I think I am in great deal of trouble. And that makes this more than weird – it is terrifying._

 _Currently, my hand is shaking quite badly, and I am struggling not to stop writing. This calms me down, somewhat. And if something were to happen, at least people can get clues through this. The latter makes this sound like my last will, though._

 _I wish this will_ _not_ _become it._

 _Back to the matter at hand. I am not feeling like making this sound simple and easy, for it isn't. To me, at least. To describe how I am feeling, I start by telling that I have a baseball bat next to me. It is all for my own secureness and protection. But, the house is so eerily silent I can't keep on staying here for too long. The heater is also cut off, so the coolness makes me shiver more. I am so scared!_

 _For the past years of my lifetime, there have been many things that have scared me to the bone. I have hidden myself inside a closet, under my bed and its covers, like any other small child. However, I am now starting to recall what it is like to be truly terrified. Though, this time, the threat isn't an imaginary monster peeking through windows. No. It has gotten a hold of someone close to me – it has made my friend stop contacting me and answering my phone calls and messages. This is even more ominous. Edmund is the most careful person I know… so how come he has fallen silent so suddenly?_

 _I have glanced at the clock. It is four minutes past one in the morning._

 _Let me clarify what has happened. I can't use too much time, so I will have to write this all down quickly. The day started normally in the hospital…_

* * *

The hospitals are dull. That is what I have always thought. They are thick, hard and sharply shaped buildings that are meant to keep patients in and filth out. Everything smells like rubber with that strange odor that every hospital seems to have. Even when I pass a cafeteria and smell of food fills my nostrils, it is not enough to wash away the nauseous wave from the stomach.

This is probably my fiftieth time visiting this place for the past few months, but I will certainly never get used to the somewhat smooth and chilly atmosphere. The staff is nice, though.

"Good day," one of the nurses greets me with a smile and I return her friendliness. This is the only reason I feel a little reassured to leave mother into this place.

When mother was analyzed with cancer, the same monster that took father away, I thought that there must be a curse upon our family. The days we found out about these illnesses, the sun hadn't shined, and the sky was grey like mouse's fur. It may sound like something out of a novel, too dramatic or silly, but that is how I saw it, two times. The first had happened so fast, but the second became agonizingly slow to this very moment. Though, at least now one of my parents' lives can be saved.

I turn to the left, passing by a familiar vending machine with really cheap coffee in it. The day I tried tasting it was the day I regretted being curious of cheap product. It is not worth it and definitely great waste of small money. My face wrinkles and I swallow, recalling the taste like it was yesterday.

Finally, the room two hundred and thirty-three is within my fingertips and I twist the knob on the door. The handle is warm, indicating that someone else has been holding it before me for a while at least.

"Michael, I am not your servant, you know?" I grumble out, holding a paper bag in the air and staring at the young male sitting in a chair.

"Yeah, yeah," he waves lazily and flicks a page of a magazine.

"Lazy arse," I mutter and then drop the things next to mother's bed with a sweet smile. I bat my eyelashes. "Here you go. They are from your _beloved_ son."

She smiles a little and gives me a nod. "Thank… you."

My smile strains a little from hearing her tired, soft voice. It reminds me of what kinds of treatments she has been through and unconsciously my eyes trail up to her bandaged head. The worst is over, and it is time of recovery for her. Though, I am certain she misses her brown locks of straight hair and running her fingers through them. Honestly, I miss them, too. And I wish that by seeing my hair she will not have a terrible reminder of what has been lost. The hair brushing against the back of my neck starts to itch my skin and I carefully brush all the misplaced strands back.

However, watching mother's tranquil smile makes my stomach turn around. She looks like a thin twig that has large eyes and dark rings under them. The effect from seeing this is worse than what the stench that the hospital can do, and I have to look away into the white bag to see what it contains. _Coward._

The first thing I see is a box full of chocolate, which makes the confliction fade and irritation takes over my being. It is not that I don't approve of the chose of a gift, but rather what its due date is. Not only that, but the one who is supposed to eat these isn't allowed to. No matter how delicious and sweet they look.

To stop my silence becoming too obvious, I rummage through the bag and pull some things out. When I find something good enough, I hold it out to mother.

"Well, well. Never thought that Michael would get anyone a book."

The said boy shoots me a look from across the room and I grin back cheekily. Mother, however, simply smiles and looks at her son with a warmth of a sun on her face. Compared to her usual tiredness, I think this is the first time in months I have seen such an expression on her face.

"Thank you… Michael," she says quietly, and her child's posture relaxes quite a lot from these words.

Michael shrugs, but is obviously happy from the smile on his face. "No problem, mother. Happy birthday."

A birthday – the day when we would eat cake, go out to do something fun, maybe to watch a movie, and then open presents. The hospital arrangement has really made lots of changes into this day, not to mention mine and my brother's. When he turned eighteen a month ago, mother couldn't get him anything, not even congratulate him, because she was in a surgery and then slept the whole day through. Her youngest child doesn't show it, but he was very depressed from her absence. At least, when my birthday passed days before his, mother was awake.

 _He must be so bitter about it._ I look away from my family, again. I swallow the lump in my throat and place the book down on the table quietly, like the smallest of sounds could break the soft atmosphere. Though, what I feel is anything, but that kind of air.

"Sis," my brother calls out and closes the magazine in his hands. "Don't you also have something to give to mother?"

His question brings a sort of lightness into my chest and I nod. "Yes. I brought it all the way from Germany, when I visited Edmund last year."

"No need to rub it off," Michael says with a frown. He isn't too happy to be reminded that I am the only one who got to travel.

Mother's expression seems to brighten up even more. "Has… Edmund called?"

I nod and take out a package which is neatly wrapped in a pinkish paper with a bow on it. "Yeah. But around two months ago, actually. He said he is planning to go and further study history."

The sickly woman chuckles. "He still loves reading that?"

"You have no idea. His whole apartment had a big bookshelf filled with that stuff, the last time I visited him," I say and hold my gift for her. "I will unwrap this for you."

"What a pretty color," she mutters quietly, eyes transfixed on the light golden stripes on the surface. They shine slightly in the light of the room.

"Michael helped to pick it up," I glance up at my brother who stiffens visibly from the comment. "He actually insisted-"

"Just open it," he says – more like orders and glares at me lightly through his slightly long bangs.

Ignoring an urge to give him a haircut immediately, I loosen the bow and pull it off from the whole package. Next, the sound of tearing paper fills the room and we all sit and wait for the gift to reveal itself. Although, instead of focusing on the task, my mind is wandering off somewhere else entirely.

I have always been an airhead. One of my teachers in middle-school called me that once, and others probably didn't dare to say it. But nowadays, I find myself drifting off more often. Maybe it is a way of coping for me? When I think deeply, some of my worries can be blocked for a while and I can focus on something other than what causes me anxiety. This deep session of floating inside my mind started way back, when father died. And now it has become worse – so to say. Worrying about things is a trait my mother is good at, but it seems like it has been passed on to me as well. Though, it has become a struggle to fight that trait, for I also have my father's easygoingness. I can either panic or stay completely lax, depending on the situation.

For weeks actually, I have been having an inner conflict. With my work, studies, stress from mother's medical care and Michael's schooling are taking their toll. It all is slow torture, and I have been trying to learn and cope with it. And when Edmund came to the picture, things got worse and, in some ways, better.

 _The guilt, paranoid thoughts, fear of loosing the luxury, fear of loosing mother and a brother, the scars left by a dead father…_ the list of the negative thoughts packs up and I switch to those I have left in the present. Luckily, mother and Michael are out of danger zone. So, one very serious conflict avoided.

But there is still one thing bugging me. It-

"Nancy… you shouldn't have," mother's voice brings me back.

I smile and let her watch the unwrapped gift. "Happy birthday!"

Michael lets out a snort of surprise from what he sees me holding but otherwise stays silent…

"Why on earth, did you buy a cuckoo clock?"

…or not.

"It is cute," is the sickly woman's reply and I laugh from hearing how serious she is. For some reason, mother has always wanted a cuckoo clock – she is someone who collects lots of things and gets the whole house cramped because of it.

I send a winning grin towards Michael. "See? She absolutely _loves_ it."

He gives me a withering glance in return but decides to keep his mouth shut after all and simply shakes his head. Unlike the females of his family, he doesn't get the charming nature of a small wooden bird coming out every hour. The moment he knew what mother's present would be, the look on his face couldn't have been more comical. It has been a while – he doesn't really show much emotion nowadays, unless mother is around. The usual, goofy, unbelievable lax boy turned his personality around in such a short amount of time, that it is frightening.

This hospital may be the place that holds mother in its care, but it is also able to bring up bitter thoughts. The moment I think I feel happiness, those kinds of emotions vanish in the air from even smallest of actions and scenes.

"Michael, how are your exam scores?"

That torn expression between mental pain and stiffness of his shoulder makes my own shoulders shake from a giggle. "Yeah, Michael. Tell mommy all about it."

His glare makes my giggling fit worse and mother looks amused. She clearly knows – judging from our reactions – what his answer will be. How I wish we could be like this every day.

* * *

"Welcome!" The smile on my face is forcefully painful, but I try to look as natural as possible. The customer on the other side of the counter, looks at me with a nervous smile. "Did you have a reception?"

"Yes. At one o'clock."

I check the information from the computer and click one particular name. "And your name?"

"Angelica Thompson."

"Great. Right this way," I say and direct the customer to the nearest chair and gesture it. "Please, take a seat."

As soon as the sound of sinking leather hits my ears, I take a dark fabric into my hands and wrap it around a waiting neck. The chin length strands brush against my knuckles softly and I look at the reflections in the mirror. This customer's hair certainly has a nice texture to it. However, what bothers me are the layers it has, giving the person somewhat a messy look. Which is not bad, depending on the person's face shape. And that is precisely why I can't approve this kind of style with such soft facial features. Plus, the murky red hair looks a little greasy, adding the clear volume of spikiness it already has.

This is a job that I currently have and what I am determinate on keeping. Though, I curse my shift for being on the day of mother's birthday and making me leave the hospital earlier than necessary. I am frustrated beyond relief, but at least I will get paid today and can deal with the electricity bill soon.

Speaking of paying, _Michael should pay his portion soon, as well._ Since we can't manage only with my salary and waste all the money I earned in German, my brother got himself a job. The day my pride soared is the day he told me that very fact. But he is currently also busy with his studies, though. So, I understand, if the timing is really bad for him to do such a thing. Still, I have my suspicions of what he is _really_ doing, when his scores are not exactly the highest. _I swear, if he lazes around, I will skin that brat!_ Though, I should expect no less from someone who reminds me of myself in that stage of high school.

I take into consideration the request on what I should do with the hair and nod with a small smile. Great. The customer decides that what the top of the head needs is a wash first.

The water comes out and down to the spiky hair. I watch as it flattens the strands and the customer stiffs a little from the new sensation, before relaxing. However, my eyes take a note of a slight twitch, when my fingers start to rub shampoo against the scalp. This customer must really not like physical contact or is naturally a little bit jumpy.

The music in the salon changes to a softer tune and the bell next to the door rings. A new customer has arrived, and a coworker comes from the back to greet them.

As I run my fingers all across the head and watch the soap foam and cover nearly every dark strand under it, instead going back to my brother, I start to think about Edmund. That very same man who hasn't called me in _weeks._

I nearly press my fingers down much harsher than what I intend. Inhaling deeply the sweet scent of soap, I purse my lips and try to focus on my job… _Doesn't answer my text messages, doesn't call back or send an email. I am so_ _ **not**_ _worried._

The washing part is over, and I pull a hairdryer from a nearby shelf. Lucky for me, it is my favorite one. Ruby red with a lighter color white going along its side. My coworker – who also seems to be in the middle of drying someone's hair – was about to take the same one and sends me a look of disappointment. I grin at her and wave the dryer in my hand.

"The weather doesn't make it look like the spring will be coming any time soon," I say and ruffle the wet hair, the dry air from the blower slightly burning my skin at one point.

The customer's eyes look at my reflection in the mirror. She isn't so nervous anymore. "Yes. Just yesterday, the snow was still falling."

"Are you a student?" I ask curiously, starting a small talk to pass some time. Though, my mind is wandering off to somewhere else.

Edmund promised to keep our deeds as an utmost secret. And that is the exact thing that scares me, because there is a possibility that something is truly wrong back in Germany. And that is the reason why my friend has stayed so silent.

The hair is dry rather quickly, and the next thing that needs to be done is cutting. I ask few questions how the young girl wants it to be done, before taking scissors from nearby. The sounds of the blades cutting the bad strands away is pleasing and I actually start to have a small smile on my face. Although, it is not enough to wipe away my concerns. My muscles keep tensing and relaxing, but they can't decide when to end the shifting. I almost cut too much hair, and it is a warning sign that I should definitely try to calm down or think about something else.

This is supposed to be a happy day. Right? So why am I feeling like there is a boulder on my shoulders? Edmund shouldn't be my concern right now. I should focus more on Michael and mother. Not to mention my job and this young customer.

When the new hairstyle is finished – the layers have lessened somewhat, and their shape has softened the girl's features even more. The strands had been long enough for me to style a bob to her, and she seems to like it judging by the happy expression on her face. It makes me a little happy as well, and I smile naturally the whole time she pays the bill and leaves with a wave and 'thank you'. This is the reason why I like people who come here and are younger than me – they are much more energetic and positive looking than someone older.

"Nancy," a man peeks through an open door from the back and waves me over. "Your phone was ringing just now."

I blink a little and then walk past him in a hurry. "Oh, yes. Thank you, Chris."

"No problem."

 _Who could be calling?_ I think curiously in my mind, but part of me hopes for it to be a certain person. The reason for my recent worries should at least try calling once back to me – Edmund.

Though, those thoughts are simply hopeful guesses. But when I find my phone on top of a coffee desk and look at the message board on the screen, my heart skips a beat. There is one missed call from the half-German man.

Suddenly, the phone rings quietly with the piano version of 'My Heart Will Go On' and my friend's name appears on the screen. The tip of my thumb presses the answer button faster than I can think and I bring the phone close to my ear, heartbeat rising over the roof. After all this time, I can finally hear his voice.

"Hello? Ed-"

" _ **Nancy!"**_ The voice from the other side calls my name loudly with a tone that makes me think of a relieved face.

"…Edmund?" I ask for confirmation. I hesitate – I have not expected him to sound like this.

" _ **Yes. It is me,"**_ he replies and heaves a quiet sigh. _**"How are you? What about Michael and your mother?"**_

My mouth opens, about to answer him, but then I frown almost angrily. "You're asking how _I_ am doing? What about you? You haven't answered my calls or messages!" I make my way deeper into the salon, not wanting my coworkers or customers to hear my voice, thats volume is slowly rising with an angry hiss. "Do you have any idea how worried I have been? I thought that cops might have gotten you!"

The man on the other end doesn't seem to pay much attention to my tone. _**"Where are you right now?"**_

"At work," I spit out and clench the phone tightly. I am not sure, if I am more relieved or angry. I am glad to know Edmund is alright, but he has not given me an explanation yet. "Now, why didn't you answer befo-"

" _ **Nancy, listen to me,"**_ he cuts my words off and continues before I am able to form another proper sentence. _**"I will call you later. I only contacted now to make sure you are alright."**_

"Ed-"

" _ **I am sorry, for not calling much earlier, but I have been busy."**_

"Alright, but-"

" _ **Please, do**_ _ **not**_ _ **call or send me messages anymore."**_

This is the point where I freeze from his words. He sounds so serious and I feel a slight pang of hurt from his request that sounds more like an order. His tone isn't irritated or full of annoyance, but a thought that he might actually find my concern foolish enters my head.

"Ed, what is going on?" I ask, not bothering to mask my concern or hurt. "Why – why are you saying things like these? We aren't in trouble because of _that_ , right?"

There is a short pause on the other end. _**"No. This is not really about that."**_

Somehow, I am finding that hard to believe and my hands start to get sweaty. "Edmund, please-"

" _ **I am telling the truth. Trust me."**_

My frown deepens. "I do, but-"

" _ **Bye now."**_

"Ed!"

The line is cut off and all I can hear is the sound of running water from the other side of the wall. Someone's hair is being washed, but it is not the sound I want to hear. The bottom of my stomach has dropped, and I am left staring at the opposite white wall with wide and helpless eyes. The short conversation ended too quickly for me, and I keep thinking about different kinds of things I could have said to keep him talking.

 _He said not to worry._ I start to feel weak and have to slide down against a wall to the floor. After waiting to hear something about a childhood friend for over a month, I get this. The anger sizzling inside dims and I am left with a shell of myself simply sitting on the floor with a phone still next to my ear.

"That… idiot," I whisper and drop the phone.

 _If he says things like these, of course I will get worried._

* * *

I am waiting in the parking lot, drumming my fingers against the wheel impatiently. The car's motor isn't on, thus not even the heather is working. This results in the temperature dropping inside and me shivering within every few minutes. Because I actually owe a small Skoda Citigo, I thought that this will be a simple and warm drive to home. So, I didn't bother dressing too warmly. The only thing keeping some heat around me is a long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans.

Fingers numbing with rapid speed, I pull my hands back and blow warm air onto them. The breath I release becomes faint white cloud and I decide to twist the keys and the car purrs pleasantly. If Michael doesn't get here by the time this vehicle is warm enough to glide against the road, I am leaving him into this cold weather to walk back home.

 _He is always late!_ My brows knit forcefully together and the frown on my face will no doubt leave marks later.

The sun is setting, and the sky is glowing with gold and red hues. The only good part of this whole pick-up trip is that I always get to use this same spot to wait and see this kind of sky. Despite the weather getting colder at evenings, there is just something calming about watching this kind of scenario. A small park is at my sight – a child is climbing up towards the slide that will take him down and few other children play with swings. Parents watch over them from benches and one is holding a small infant. This neighborhood is so nice, with its peacefulness, children, families and elderly people. It is so close to the countryside after all, so nothing pretty much happens around here.

And I once hated this atmosphere as well. What a fool I had been. Michael should hurry up and realize how lucky both of us are to live here, like I did.

I sigh and close my eyes at the same time. Why can't he learn to take more care of himself? It's like I am his mother now.

As if reading my thoughts, I finally see my little brother making his way out of McDonald's and walking towards the car with a leisure pace. The nonchalant expression on his face doesn't give away his possible uneasiness from the thought of facing my lecture.

"What took you so long?" Is the first thing I say and ask from him, when the door to the backseat opens.

Michael doesn't look at me and closes the door calmly. "I had to clean up a little."

"You say that almost every time," I pull on my seatbelt. "Couldn't you at least text me, when you have to? I was about to leave without you, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah."

I grit my teeth from his noncaring response and glare him over my shoulder. "I will seriously not drive with you in here, if you keep this up. You want a ride? Be nice and stop that attitude! I had to work until now and you were laying on a couch the half of that time."

Michael's eyes are the same color as mine. Brown, the murky kind. And those dark color filled orbs glare at me with contempt. I return it, but otherwise keep my lips presses together in a tight line and pull out of the parking lot with sharp movements. Not only am I tired from work, but also confused, scared and worried of the call from Edmund. He should have explained more to me and not leave everything to be so vague. And it is not helping that the youngest child of the family is currently in one of his 'moods'.

The park I was admiring a minute ago passes by along with the pretty view to the sky I was gazing at few minutes ago and it makes my own mood grow sourer.

"Hey, Nancy," Michael suddenly calls out.

Unconsciously, my hands tighten around the wheel and I grit out: "Yes?"

He pauses a bit, already knowing to be careful with what he is about to say next. "I need to go to a friend's house."

"No," is my immediate answer and the irritation rises up along with the tension in the car. "You will come home, study for the next exam and that is it."

"But this is important," he insists, not sounding happier than what I am.

"And your exam scores aren't?" I bite back and stop from the red headlights further away. This gives me time to look over my shoulder angrily at my equally displeased brother. "Mother told you to-"

"Ugh! Do you always have to bring her up?" He cuts me off and throws his arms up in the air dramatically.

I am not sure why, but I get a feeling that men currently in my life like to interrupt me. And why today of all days? I am not certain but take deep breath and try not to start yelling. "It seems I do."

Like I had a second ago, Michael takes in a deep breath. "I need to finish a history project with Mike."

I raise a doubtful eyebrow. "Last time you went to him to finish a "project", you got a low mark on your chemistry course from a half-finished assignment."

"I am serious about this," he says and leans forward so I can get a glimpse of his cheek from the corner of my eye.

The light turns to green and we are moving again. "Sit down, Michael."

"But- Augh!"

The stress has reached its peak rather quickly and the car makes a sharp turn to the left. It causes Michael to hit the seat next to mine and continue even further to the side and get an impact from the door. Luckily, it doesn't sound loud enough to cause the thing to open up. I feel a slight flicker of guilt from my brother's cry, but it is blinded by other heated emotions.

"Listen! I do not have time or patience to deal with your problems every time!" I growl out and increase the car's speed a little. "I will take you to Mike's. _But_ , you better call me before eight o'clock to pick you up. Understand? Otherwise, do _not_ bother returning home. Now, shut it and let me drive."

The car is filled with heavy silence the rest of the way. Michael doesn't say anything, and neither do I. We are both done with screaming and getting angry at each other, for today. This must be the second time during this week that the two of us have slashed out at each other like this. Not that we haven't done it many times over the years.

The blinding anger from being tired and stressed out will surely fade away later. And when it does, I am certain I will be feeling extremely guilty from what I did and that I need to fix it.

* * *

My eyes droop, before I nearly slam my forehead against the table and scattered papers. I have to lean back against the soft chair to stay awake, but I end up yawning and feel even more sleepier. _No. Nope. I do not sleep. Have to concentrate._

Taking a large gulp out of my coffee cup, I rub my forehead and start to look through the list I have made. "Alright. Water, done. Electricity, not done."

The screen of the computer has become an annoyance. The light of the room at least is somewhat tolerable and not so sharp. It may have something to do with the fact that it has nice colors of warm orange and yellow on it, and that it was bought at a flea market from an old lady with flower patterned, wide shirt… I must be really tired, to be thinking about that time with a smile. That old lady had almost hit me with this said lamp.

I rub my forehead again. "Concentrate, concentrate. You are almost done."

The month's water bills weren't as bad as I had feared them to be. However, the electricity's use hasn't lessened, despite the fact that I talked to my little brother about his screen time and use of the charger of his phone. _Honestly. I lessened my use of computer and Tv, but he can't do even that?_

I shake my head, too tired to think of ways to interrogate Michael. He will get it, when I will go and pick him up later. Though, the clock is already half-past seven, and I am still waiting for him to give me a call. Despite what I said in the car, I am not planning on truly leaving him to his friend's house for the night. Mother would flip, if she finds out, and a higher blood pressure is the last thing she needs. She has been through enough when I was in my teenage years and used every last bit of electricity to suck her and father out of their money. If I had known personally during that time how hard it is, I would have become a hippie… for a while.

 _Bless you father, wherever you are up in Heaven. Sorry for making you pay all of my phone bills._ I let out a loud sigh, again. I have been doing it a lot lately, for the past hour and a half. _That settles it. When mother is all better, I will have to take her to a spa._

I tap the keys of the computer, while glancing at the paper in my hands every few seconds. I was right, when I thought only a little bit of our savings and my payment will be enough to pay all of these. Still, I will have no money left after this and will have to wait until the next payday. Though, I wonder, if Michael will even bother to commit to a so-called 'waste'. He once directly told me his feelings about it, around the time that I returned back from Germany, actually.

The frown I have been trying to keep at bay comes back and I have to relax my facial muscles for a second. That boy certainly thinks he is the only one suffering here. Like I have not gotten my share of this family drama as well.

"Father, was I like this as well?" I ask quietly and look at the framed picture of my parents. I do not expect an answer, but a part of me wishes dearly for a one.

Looking at the smiling faces becomes too difficult for me and I look back to the computer's screen and the bill in my hand. It is like back in hospital with mother. Looking at a ghost.

When I am finished, I have to look at the clock and then let out another huge sigh. Dealing with the last bill went much quicker than what I anticipated. That is good, but Michael hasn't called me yet. The frustration of it is like what I felt with Edmund… Oh, yeah. I definitely need to call that brother of mine and make sure he is not up to something.

"I swear…" I grumble and reach out to the phone. "Thought he would learn… Idiot… He is gonna get it… No dinner… Already eighteen years…"

However, I freeze, once I see that I have a message from the one I have been thinking about throughout the day. Like back in the salon, my heartbeat skips a little and I open the message as quickly as I can. At first, I look at the time it was sent at. The numbers show me it has been over an hour and I curse under my breath for not noticing earlier.

Edmund said he will contact me later, but I never expected it to be this soon. The way he had spoken made it sound like another month would need to pass or even a year.

 _Maybe he truly meant it, when he said there is nothing to worry about?_ The thought brings a small smile on my lips and I relax in my chair. I slide the screen down to read the message in peace.

Although, the peacefulness is short lived and the breath hitches in my throat from reading first few lines.

 _ **From: Edmund (the fool-that-owes-me-a-drink)**_

 _ **Get out of the country. Run.**_

The message is short, simple. Too short, actually. But that is apparently the least of my concerns now. I can't breathe and cold sweat runs down my back like a waterfall. The room's heater is on, but it doesn't stop a freezing chill or ice from spreading all over my body like a snake. It seems to get into my mind as well, because I can't think straight for a period of time that feels like minutes. Emotions of shock, emptiness, confusion, anger, slight hint betrayal and fear must appear on my face at the same time, until it becomes a stiff mask.

Then, I snap back to reality and close the phone quick as lightning. Few papers scatter down from the table, when I stand up so abruptly to create a small breeze. My feet work for my mind and I run out to the hallway. I am _vulnerable_ inside this small study.

Edmund – the same man and friend who was praised back in kindergarten for being such a thoughtful lad. I could see it back then, as well. He wasn't careless, rushing or hotheaded. Unlike me. That is why I used to cling onto him like to a big brother, despite being months older than him. Through the school years he was one of the brightest in the class, a fact which made me jealous of him. But it also made me trust him whenever I needed to. I have almost never doubted his abilities to carry out his word, if he decides on something.

But currently, my faith in that dear and smart childhood friend is fading.

 _Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why!? WHY!?_ The walls look like they are about to close in on me, but I make to the door leading into my room. My first priority is to get out of the house.

I throw open the closest and am greeted with rows and rows of my clothes. I grab few useful ones for different weather and then move to smaller equipment. Like a toothbrush, which I almost forget in a hurry. By the time I am mostly done, my whole room looks like a hurricane has been there.

"Alright. Calm, calm," I keep on muttering under my breath, but then stop, when the phone rings. I look at the name of the one calling and realize the most important part I nearly forgot.

I answer the call in a hurry.

" _ **Hey, sis. I am ready to go home,"**_ Michael says from the other end and I exhale in relief from hearing his voice. Though, I can also hear his friend, Mike, babbling something in the background.

"Michael," I start carefully. My limbs are trembling, and I want this conversation to be over as soon as possible. "I am sorry, but could you stay at Mike's place for a while? Like… over the night."

" _ **What?"**_ It's clear that he is flabbergasted by my request. I know it sounds suspicious, coming from someone who has forbidden him from staying out of the house many times. _**"Nancy, are you feeling alright?"**_

It takes all my willpower not to sound panicking. "Yes. I just need to go away for a while."

" _ **What? Why? When did you…"**_ he trails off, not sounding sure what to say next.

I run my hand through my hair and then stiffen. I glance towards the door of my room and see it is half-open. The phone still in my hands, I close it and put a lock on, then I go to the window and close it from the night world outside. My heartbeat and adrenaline are rising, and I know that the sooner I leave this house, the better. But, Michael is still my main concern along with mother.

"Look, I know it is sudden. But it is important, and I thought you might want to have a free night with your friend. Just, no drinking or smoking."

"… _ **You sure – Wait a second, Nancy! I don't – What is really going on?"**_

My fingers nearly pull out the hair from its roots in frustration. "Like I said, I have to go out of town for a while."

" _ **How long is a while? And have you talked to mother about this?"**_

I almost want to say I am impressed how adult-like he is finally sounding, but do not have enough humor left in this situation. Actually, my eyes are starting to sting, and I know that I will start crying, if Michael doesn't get through his thick skull that my decision is final.

Also, the mention of mother makes the emotions inside of me bubble. I can't bear the thought of what kind of worry she will experience after hearing my late announcement from her son.

"No. I will send her a message later. Also, i-in case I do not return back before new bills arrive," _I definitely won't_ , "then use your own money and our savings. But do _not_ buy unnecessary things, okay? You hear me? Mother's treatment was fully paid weeks ago, so you don't have to worry about that. R-remember to eat well and read for the exams. If you d-do not want to stay in the house, y-you can go to aunt's place or even stay at Mike's, as long as it is okay with his parents. D-do _not_ forget to dress up warmly as well. The weather is still cold and all…"

It is no use. First tear is already tracing its way across my left cheek and below my chin. My voice nearly cracks, and I pull the phone slightly away from my face. I am afraid that Michael will hear the sound of my gritting teeth. Despite not wanting to, I am blaming Edmund for all of this. If he could have kept his word, I wouldn't need to leave my family behind to face whoever comes after me. I close my eyes tightly and image his face before my eyes, torn by guilt and regret. That is how I want him to be, when I will see him again. _You promised, you promised that I wouldn't need to do this!_

It is not that I only need to get out of town, but maybe even out of the whole country. Edmund had said so in the message, so I fear it really is too serious for me to stay. But who says that my family won't be accused by authorities for hiding me? Who am I kidding? Me and Edmund might have even pissed off a mafia group!

" _ **Sis, I am worried. What is really going on? Please, tell me,"**_ Michael begs surprising me how honest he sounds.

I smile weakly, feeling some warmth inside my chest. "I-I… I really can't. Just take care of mother, alright? And don't you dare to come back home for a while."

" _ **Nancy, please, explain,"**_ he sounds somewhat panicking now, which makes me experience similar emotions.

"I w-will be fine," I say firmly, clenching my fist. I wish so much to come up with a sensible excuse, but nothing comes up into my panicked mind. "Do not try to contact me. I don't think I will be able to answer. And for once, do as I say… please."

" _ **How can I?"**_ He asks with a huff, but worry is clear on his tone.

Despite the spat we had earlier today in the car, I do not want him to regret it later. So, I force my voice to sound soft, careless and genuine. "Michael, I am sorry for yelling at you in the car. I was so tired."

It is silent for a while, and I wonder if he is shocked from my apology or getting even more worried. But, if I don't apologize now, I might not be able to do it later.

" _ **It… it was my fault, too."**_

"Then," I inhale and let another tear slide down my face. "Remember not to come home, at least for a week or two. And… goodbye, for now. I love you."

The sharp inhale of breath on the other side is enough for me to close the phone and listen to the silence around the room. The shaking has gotten worse and I struggle to not crumble down on the ground. Though, the warm and soft mat under my feet is calling to curl up into a ball on top of it.

 _This is bad…_ I take shaky steps towards my small luggage and struggle to gather it up into my arms. _I do not want to leave…_

* * *

 _That is all there is to it. I have to leave this place and my family. But, I am not sure for how long._

 _I hate this. I totally despise my situation but can also blame myself for it. Edmund will surely get it, when I get my hands on him!_

 _But, I am the one who agreed to help him the first place, so-_

* * *

The phone starts ringing and I nearly jump out of the bed with covers tangled all around me. The color feels like it fades from my face and I stop breathing for a second, but then quickly drop the diary and pen and grab the phone. Without thinking, I answer it.

"N-nancy Heart speaking," I say, but the stiffen and look at the name of the one calling. My eyes widen at once, after seeing who it is, and I dare to raise my voice, that still quivered a second ago. "Ed! Where are you!? Do you have any idea – No, scratch that! Where are you right now? What was up with the message you sent me!? I swear if you don't explain right now, I am gonna hunt you down and shave all your hair off!"

 _ **"…"**_

"Ed? Hellooooo?" I shake the phone like it could actually help. I am angry, tired and frustrated and this actually helps me with them. "I swear, if you are keeping quiet on purpose, I will really shave your hair off!"

 ** _"…"_**

Now, I start to frown and look at the screen. It is still working, and the call is still going on. So, is there something wrong with the connection? Not that this hasn't happened before, but what a bad timing. I bite down on my lip and look around the room helplessly. How am I supposed to speak to Ed, if I can't even hear him?

"Ed, if you hear me, I will have to go to…"

 _ **"…"**_

The silence continues in the room and on Edmund's side of the line. I blink, frown and then stiffen. I don't dare to breathe, as I lower the phone once more and stare at it almost in frightened daze. _The person I am speaking to… is Edmund._

 _Right?_

Shaking once again, I close the phone and quickly throw it along with the diary into the bag. My mind empty, I follow my instincts and run out of the room with heartbeat rising to the ceiling. I know it may be crazy, too much out of a movie, but that call sent such cold chills down my spine, that I thought I would turn into ice. And I think that the one who called wasn't really Ed, but someone else who simply had his phone. And it has only been around two hours since he sent the message – it is suspicious. A terrifying thought enters my mind and I start imagining my best friend being held as a prisoner. If they had called to my phone, doesn't that mean that I am also a target? My stomach drops, when I realize that I nearly blurred out where I will be going.

I get to the front door and drop the luggage carelessly to the ground. Fumbling over the line of clothes, I grab mine and a scarf wraps around my neck clumsily, swatting me on the face and making me nearly trip over my shoes. And when I have to put them on, my fingers are trembling so badly, that I can't tie them properly.

The house's silence is becoming eerier and I look carefully over my shoulder. The framed pictures of different scenarios from trips over the country are displayed on the walls, and my eyes start to sting again as I look at them. Reaching out to the door's knob is harder than I thought, but when it does open, and cold night air hits my wet face, I have to close the lights, lock the door and run to the car in garage.

 _Maybe I should text to mother?_ Is what I think about, as I sit into the car and take out the keys. The engine goes on and the lights turn on as well. However, I do not take my phone from a pocket, but drive out of the house's yard and towards the road ahead.

Few cars pass by, all of them heading either to the left or right. The route I am supposed to take, is the left one. And as I turn my car, I glance towards the house I grew up in once and then hit the gas.


	3. Chapter 3: Knocking woodpecker

**DaydreaminPanda: Thank you for being the first person to give a review on my story. I truly appreciate it! :) I hope you will continue reading this story with enjoyment. Have fun with this new chapter!**

* * *

 _Chapter 3: Knocking woodpecker_

* * *

 _Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!_

"Fuck this shit!" Michael slams the phone down, cutting off any of that further monotonous voice. It has been ticking him off for the past thirty minutes of standing or sitting around. Now, he is walking – and fuming – towards his house with a deep frown on his face, leaving the telephone box behind.

His nerves are high and alert. Constant irritation grinds against them and as the clock keeps on ticking forward his thoughts grow even wilder. This isn't like him at all, though. His sister is always the worrywart, not him. But now she has gone and caused concern for him – a total role reversal. That is not even the worst of it. His mother's blood pressure has risen since she received a text message from her daughter earlier today. However, that is the last thing that both the youngest child and the mother have heard from Nancy.

The pit of his gut twitches. There is something really wrong with this situation, otherwise, his sister wouldn't have sounded as she had last evening. She had even _apologized_ to her younger brother for yelling at him in the car. All of the things that point to Nancy are now clues to her little brother.

He cannot let this slide just like that. The police had been informed, but the act certainly hadn't calmed down the missing person's mother. Rather, doctors had to give Michael's mother medicine to calm her down. As soon as she had fallen asleep, he had left in a hurry. He doesn't own a cellphone – his fell on a pavement months ago and broke – nor does he have much of an idea what has happened to his older sibling.

"Michael are you not overreacting a bit?" Mike asks suddenly from behind his friend. "I mean, she could have gone on a vacation."

 _Vacation!?_ For once, Michael wants to punch his friend in the face from such a ridiculous assumption. But more than anything, the dark-haired man feels a bit anger from hearing his blond companions nonchalant tone. He isn't worried about the missing sibling at all. _Why is he still here, anyway?_

Taking a very deep breath, Michael calms himself and grits between his teeth: "Don't you have a group date with PJ and Tom and some girls?"

"That was the plan, but since you are not coming, I am not interested in that stuff either."

"You don't have to follow me, though," he points out and then picks up his pace. "You can go home. I will be heading there as well."

"Aren't the cops there, right now?" Mike asks again and jogs after his friend. "I mean, are you sure? They will probably start asking questions from you."

"So, what?" He snaps back and sends his companion a glare who raises his hands in surrender.

"I am just saying that talking to them is not all rainbows and sunshine."

 _Neither is the fact that someone's sibling is missing. But hey, everyone has their own opinions,_ instead of saying any of that with the most sarcastic voice he could muster, Michael keeps the words inside his head. He can always ignore Mike and his obnoxious nature, for now at least. As for the police…

The house is coming to view and sure enough, there are two cars standing before it with their sirens shut off. The door is open and one officer is standing next to it while looking through a small notebook. Michael can immediately see absolutely nothing from his expression. There is no way of telling if they have actually found something – anything could make him feel better right now – or are just idling by to show off their profession.

As soon as the man notices two young men approaching he lowers the notebook. "Are you the brother?"

"Yes," Michael answers and peeks inside through a nearby window. Another officer is moving around the living room. "Have you found anything?"

"Well," the officer drawls and looks back down at the papers. "To start with, your sister's room is a mess. It seems to us like she was in a hurry to leave. There are no signs of anyone barging in unwanted nor are there any broken objects. Also, the car you mentioned is missing."

 _I knew it._ There is no other way for her to leave the town otherwise. The problem is where she is going with it. The police don't know. Michael nor his mother know. Nobody knows where Nancy has gone to. Or her reasons for it.

The youngest son and child – a young adult of eighteen years – of the house swallows thickly. He can recall the last conversation he had had with Nancy. Her voice is still echoing in his ears and causing some guilt into his chest. The moment he had heard his sister's voice, he should have done something. Despite the fact that they had been apart in different houses and many streets between them, he should have done _something_. He heard it. The way Nancy was close to crying, her voice had been wavering. Sure, she had said she will be gone for a while… but it certainly hadn't sounded like that.

Michael pulls the scarf around his neck closer and shudders from the chilly air. Unconsciously, he had pulled on the warmest jacket that he owns this morning. _She had told me to dress up warmly._ Normally, he would pretty much ignore the nagging and receive an earful from Nancy, but not now. She isn't even present to witness his obedience. And disobedience. _She said not to come to this place. What was she so afraid of?_

Honestly, he should be listening to her last advice, but it isn't like he can sleep under Mike's roof all the time. All of his stuff is in here. This is his home. The one and only where he and Nancy grew up in. And she had just asked him not to come? She made it sound like there is a bomb planted in here. _There isn't one… right?_

"You have already been questioned thoroughly with your mother about this disappearance, but if you come up with anything else worth mentioning then contact us immediately," the officer says and places the notebook into his pocket. "Are you certain that she didn't get in trouble with some bad people? You did mention that some money is missing."

Michael's jaw tenses. "I am not sure."

It is highly likely, though. It would explain certain aspects of her call from last night and her messy room. Not to mention she also took almost half of the money from their bank account. _The money…_

He frowns and then forces a nod towards the officer. "Could you also inform immediately, if you find something about her?"

The older man nods. "Of course," he says and then places a firm hand down on the boy's shoulder. "We will find her. Stay strong – you and your mother both."

Once again, he only nods and watches how the officer calls out to the other men inside and starts questioning them in turn. Michael stays outside and listens – ignoring Mike who stands awkwardly next to him. They have not found anything. Nothing is pretty much missing nor are there any signs that could lead them forward. The facts make the dark-haired boy's fists clench and he glares at the garage. It is empty now.

The money has to be the reason she is gone now. Michael really can't think of anything else, at the moment. She had just appeared last year back from German with all of the cash earned from her 'work'. She had smiled, she had looked so proud of herself. But anyone could see that it had been a bit suspicious. Nobody earns that amount without doing something, and Nancy kept being pretty vague about her trip. All she mentioned was that Edmund – her close childhood friend and their former neighbor – had offered a job opportunity.

 _Edmund… he should probably know about this._ The memories of him are fresh in Michael's mind. He can never forget that face that would often laugh at his antics during his much younger years. They haven't even cut off their contacts with each other, after all the years living in separated countries. Michael even got a gift from him through Nancy, when she came back to England. So, when he starts to suspect that same man at the bottom of his stomach clenches. He feels betrayal. If Edmund does truly know about his sister, then why hasn't he been in contact? Could it be he isn't aware of it, yet? Somewhere, in the back of his head, Michael wishes that his mind is simply being too paranoid. _But what if he_ _ **is**_ _the reason for her leaving?_

" _I w-will be fine."_

Like hell, she would. It had been more than clear in her voice. Who knows what she had done to cause that kind of reaction. Michael grits his teeth together and allows the officers to pass him by. He has to make a decision now.

"Excuse me," he forces out and walks closer to the man he had been talking with earlier. The man stops and looks at him patiently. Michael couldn't care less if his sister has been involved in a gang or has committed a crime. There is only one thing he is thinking, and that is how afraid he is that something has happened to his only sibling. "There is actually something that happened last year with my sister. When she came back from German…"

 _Sis, please be alright._

* * *

 _(February 5th, 1999)_

 _Dear diary, things have escalated to a whole new level. The whole night – since yesterday evening – I have been on a run. It is honestly taking a toll on me because just recently I almost fell asleep while driving and an angry old man started yelling at me from his car. I knew that old people like to wake up very early in the morning, but this old crow had taken it to a whole new level. He actually yelled and cursed at me right to my face. I shudder just thinking about seeing his yellowish teeth and smelling his odor filled breath. Yuck!_

 _Anyway, it is unusual for me to write during this time of the day – the day has not even started fully to those who are still sleeping (lucky ones). Nothing peculiar besides that old man incident has happened and honestly, I am bored, tired, a worried wreck in need of a break and I am sure my blood pressure has gone over the point of normal. Not to mention I have gotten more than a few calls from mother and Michael but haven't answered them. I thought I had made things clear with my brother before leaving, but I guess I was expecting too much. Of course, they will be worried no matter what I might have said. Not even the message I sent to mother has calmed the number of messages._

 _My only solution was to shut the whole thing down. Even my navigator is currently laying somewhere in a faraway dumpster. I may not know the full extent of technology, but I heard from a friend that those things might have tracking devices on them, phones included. I will not be caught because of them! I am even thinking about throwing the phone away. That is under consideration._

 _However, I have been using a map for a while on the road and have had to stop more than a couple of times to ask directions. And considering how little amount of people there are a little past midnight walking around the place, it has not been easy._

 _I almost fell asleep now. I can barely write anymore. I have gotten too relaxed._

* * *

I snap back from my half-awake state and rub my dry eyes with the back of my hand. _This is not going anywhere._ Setting down the pen and closing the diary, I put them into my bag and then look down at the object on the table.

The phone's screen is completely blank. The light bulb of a small sideroad's McDonald's shines on its corner as a small bright spot and many thin lines of scratches can be seen around it. A customer – a male with a thick blue jacket – walks past my table and the top of his bald head appears on my device for a short few seconds. I wipe away the mark of my thumb's fingerprint and then lean back with a sigh.

The whole place smells heavily like fried fries and meat between each hamburger. One of the latter is on my plate right now and I take a bite out of it. Mayonnaise, cheese, salad, and meat along with other spices fill my mouth and my half-empty stomach. If I wasn't so emotionally drained right now, no doubt that I would smile a little. _Ugh… Ten hours without food is a killer._ Though, having a cheese hamburger for breakfast is a bit strange, but not bad at all.

Until this, I had thought that a mere cup – or two – of coffee would be enough to keep me healthy and strong enough to continue driving. But, no. Just no. I had to eat something before I would faint from fatigue and starvation. I would still need to drive for around three hours after this.

I flinch, when something harsh and sharp feels like it is digging into my head. The inside of my brain – I think it is my brain – throbs, and a frown mutilates my face. Carefully, I rub the scalp, hoping to soothe the pain. It has been like this about two or three days now. The sharp pain has constantly appeared at the most inconvenient times. I should be relaxing and drinking and eating calmly, but no. A headache chose this to be a perfect moment to rise up.

"Excuse me?" I raise my hand up when a waitress finally decides to come to clean something up. I am too tired to walk to the counter. She walks to my table and I ask with a blank and obviously tired face. "Could I get one cup of coffee?"

The older woman is also being obvious, as her eyes trail down to the other cups on my table and the half-finished hamburger. Still, she gives a nod. "Of course. Just a moment."

When she is gone, I stretch out and let out a yawn that feels a bit painful to the muscles of my face. _Here I am…_ My eyes trail off to the outside world of this small restaurant and see the long road and the back of my new car. I had gotten it as soon as my plane had landed and there had been a small car store nearby. Luckily, there were cheap, but useful ones there. _I hope Americans' gas stations don't charge too much._

Here she is. A woman in her early twenties with a cheap and enough money to buy a house in her pocket, planning on running across states and then find a perfect hiding spot from somewhere. Her friend had luckily planned everything, so she knows exactly where she has to go, but… that still does not lessen the gravity of the situation.

 _I left my country, my home, and house and my family, because of helping Ed._ Maybe because I find this entire situation stupid and it's making me feel extreme bitterness, but I have started to regret everything I had ever done for his sake. Play along? Trust him and everything will be fine? My dear childhood friend is in trouble and I have to help? I can get the money? Those thoughts sound so ridiculous and naïve in my head, now. I have done nothing but caused trouble and worry for myself and my family. Yet, I knew that all of this could happen. In fact, I can only blame myself for letting myself get carried away. There is no way I can get away with the crime. I was too desperate for better life to let facts sink in.

"Here you go," the waitress is back rather quickly – breaking me from my depressing self-pity and scolding – and puts a steaming cup down. "With sugar and milk, right?"

"Yeah," I nod, not surprised that she remembered my previous orders and knew that I wanted the same one again. I give her the money nonchalantly as possible, but no doubt I still look like a mess. "Here you go."

"Thank you," she says, but doesn't move back to her work. Instead, she stares down at me a bit hesitantly. "Are you alright?"

I bite down on my tongue and clench my fist under the table. I wish this woman would just do her job and mind her own business. _No, I am not alright. My friend and I are now criminals and I had to flee from my country to the other side of the sea and leave my family behind. Not to mention I am stuck eating my breakfast in this place and drinking your bitter coffee. Everything is just peachy!_ I can't seriously look _that_ terrible, for her to even ask.

With everything I have, I force a small smile on my lips and keep my voice steady. "Yeah. Just a bit tired from driving the whole night."

"Whole night? Are you in a hurry to somewhere?" She asks and then looks down at the money in her hands with counting expression.

"No, just a tourist looking around the place," I answer and then continue clenching my fists under the table. But then, I bite my tongue and start panicking mentally. I am not sure if telling her I am not a citizen here is a safe thing to do.

She catches on and then smiles. "Are you perhaps from the UK?"

My throat tightens, it feels like it is being squeezed by an invisible force, but I nod. The palms of my hands sweat, and I try to appear calm and nonchalant by taking the cup and drink from it. However, I almost flinch. The hot liquid burns my tongue and my eyes water, but I continue keeping the smile on.

"You have an accent," the waitress suddenly says.

Now, I have a genuine confusion on my face and I stop trying to force the hot drink down my aching throat. Somehow, the comment makes me think overboard and creates another unpleasing sensation in my stomach. I am not very noticeable in the crowd but having an accent could distinguish me from the rest and that wouldn't be good. Edmund had mentioned that I shouldn't worry about anything else than getting away from England, but he also mentioned staying low. And despite him letting me down already once – and a big time – I can't stop recalling his words.

My eyes look at the woman up and down carefully, when she is busy putting the money away. Her hair is curly and put up into a short ponytail while her uniform mainly consisting of a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Other than that, there is nothing unusual about her, nor a quality that would make me too worried about her being suspicious of me. But… maybe she is simply pretending to be friendly and then later will report me to the police?

I look back down at my cup and let the thoughts mull over for a while. The steam keeps on rising – _they will find me –_ and so does my heartbeat. Even while I had been driving, at almost every stop I made there was this constant feeling of being watched. My paranoid mind has even started to think that these coffee cups have a hidden camera in them… _Yeah, right._ I rest my head on my palm and sigh quietly under my breath. I really need to calm down and find a place to stay at for now. I think the map had some markings of different hotels near the road. And if I remember correctly, I should come to a one by driving another two miles or so.

"An accent, huh?" I say, pretending to still be confused. "Funny. When I came here last time, nobody said that to me."

The waitress raises her eyes to me again and chuckles lightly. "My friend usually mixes people from the UK with Irish. I have been telling her lately that their two accents sound completely different with English involved."

I also chuckle, but it is forced and extremely uncomfortable thing to do. Another bolt of a headache shatters my mind and my toes curl inside the hot shoes I am wearing. No doubt they are currently very sweaty. More importantly, the headache has now spread from one spot on my head to another. It throbs, stabs and then repeats the process over and over again.

I am not sure that drinking coffee in a migraine-like pain is the wisest thing to do, but I gulp down the hot liquid anyway. No doubt my mouth will become numb from burning it, but a new type of pain slightly helps to distract the other one… _Who am I kidding?_ Both pains are making my eyes water.

Desperate, I address the waitress: "Do you know, if there is a pharmacy anywhere around the area?"

She seems to think for a while. "There is if you follow down that road," she gestures towards the one I am supposed to follow anyway, "and drive around a mile and stop near another gas station, there should be one opposite of it."

"Alright, thank you," I say and return to my meal. It is better if I finish eating quickly. Nothing could be better, than a nice and a somewhat long sleep. I can't spend too much time in one place.

 _Now,_ I walk into the parking lot and straight to my new car. The greyish color keeps on reminding me of a mouse, which suits my current emotional state almost perfectly. _These people drive on the right side of the road, right?_ I don't even want to start counting how many times I have already made a driving mistake in this place.

* * *

The very second, I get to the hotel, I park my new car – which is greyer than the one I have back in England – grab the small amount of property I have brought with me, head towards the reception desk and book a room for myself. The man behind the counter doesn't smile, though. Rather, he looks bored beyond belief and mishears my words every now and then. He doesn't look any older than my father was, but he certainly knows how to act like an old man with hearing difficulties.

I do not use my real name, though. I use my mother's that she was called before getting married. And as I am writing it down as neutrally as possible, stabs of guilt keep on pushing themselves into my chest. The name of my mother has become a cover. The heaviness of thousand rocks lands on my shoulder just from seeing each letter.

The man looks down at the handwriting the moment his book is returned. Through the thick glasses, his eyes scan the name, before looking back up. "Welcome, miss Evergreen."

"Thank you," I force a smile and take the key from him.

Without missing a beat, I take myself and the small baggage in my hands up the stairs and towards the third floor. There is a sign on the elevator saying that it isn't working. Nothing in this place seems to be working, though. The color of the walls seems to be worn out and there are small but visible cracks in the dry paint. Somehow, it suits the image of the man behind the counter.

Once I get into the room twenty-five, I open the light colored wooden door and step in, closing the door behind me. The room is relatively small, but there is enough space for one person. For me.

I throw the baggage onto the bed, it bounces slightly before settling. I grab a bottle of painkillers from within one of its pockets and head towards the bathroom. A migraine, headache, or whatever I have, has started again and it continues crawling all over my head. Honestly, it is because of it that I nearly lost my temper at one point while waiting for the green lights. Luckily, I had kept the windows closed or I would have started yelling at the car before me to hurry up and drive.

 _I must be too stressed._ I fill a plastic cup with water and pop the small pill into my mouth. The water flushes it down and I look at the reflection in the mirror. The roots of my hair are obviously greasy – like I have not showered in days… Which isn't far from the truth. Actually, that is the very truth why I look like a homeless, with bags under my eyes and hair as a mess of strands on top of my head. _I should really take a shower._

The area for taking a bath is also very small and I spend at least three minutes having a mental debate about whether to have a shower or not. On one hand, I should clean myself. But… the shower looks so rusty and I can see pecks of dust here and there. So, I end up dragging myself out of the miniature bathroom with the painkillers in my hand. There is a limited amount I can take in twenty-four hours, but I wish that I could still take more.

The room's bright light seems to make my head feel worse, so I close the curtains and let darkness surround the small space. _Seriously, what is wrong with my head all of sudden?_ Having enough, I let my body hit the bed heavily. The covers smell like overly smelly shampoo, but I ignore it and hug the pillow. At least the bed feels clean enough. I set up an alarm clock, before getting truly comfortable, though.

 _Miss Evergreen, huh?_ The guilt starts to fade as I mutter that name quietly under my breath. Unlike before, it doesn't feel like it is going to eat me alive. Who knows? Maybe I can start and learn to live with the burden of everything I have done. At least, that would make this headache feel bearable.

I am not sure, how I am able to fall asleep. My head keeps on hurting the whole time I lay still.

* * *

 _I am walking down a curious path – an alley. It is between pure white buildings that have bright flowers blooming on windowsills. I kind of like it. Even though I am not seeing much of it nor does it seem to be anything special, the air it holds is nostalgic. The smell of flowers is relaxing. The sky must be clear because it is not exactly dark nor is it cold. It is summer and the birds chirp on top of the colorful roofs. I imagine them being either bright red or royal blue.  
_

 _Without really knowing why I have started skipping and then run towards the end of the alley. For some reason, I have started to develop a feeling that I should hurry up and get out of here. And soon the reason becomes clear when I see flowing pieces of colorful papers in the air and a mass of people chattering in the distance. It is a festival, and I am late._

 _The long hem of my dress almost makes me trip. But it reminds me of the reason why I am in a hurry in the first place. I had to pick up an outfit for this day, but it took longer than I had expected. I could have taken the dress that is the very color of fresh grass on the fields or the one with pink flowers adorning the white hem. But, instead, I had chosen a yellow one. It is the same color as the yellow sunflowers that I pass by once I am out of the alley._

 _People are laughing, eating delicious food or watching different kinds of entertainer's. And in the middle of the marketplace, there is a gathering where people have started to dance in the rhythm of the music. The latter is the exact location I want to go to. I made a promise to try and dance with the girls after the festival is nearing its end. That is when the best part starts, but…_

 _"Ugh!" I let out a grunt when I don't seem to be able to find my friends. "Where are they?"  
_

 _The merry crowd is large, and I have difficulties figuring out where my companions might be. Everyone seems to look the same no matter where I am going to. The women wear long dresses, twirling and moving across the grounds with grace. Men's black shoes keep on stomping on the stony ground one after another with heavier steps compared to their female counterparts. They look so happy while dancing, even if their faces seem distorted and their voices keep on getting muffled._

 _Huh? Where am I again? My once hurried steps halt and I turn my head. I look around myself few times, noting how the people start to scatter and I am left on the side of all the fun. Instead of being nearly in the center of the crowd, I am now next to two buildings leading to another alley. I raise an eyebrow and look around again in confusion. This can't be right._

 _Bright fireworks fill out the sky, sparkling in red colors. They look like very large flowers that start to bloom. The people cheer and even I start clapping alongside them with a large smile on my face._

" _Are you enjoying the festival?" A random lady asks, coming towards me with a blurry face. I think she is smiling, though._

" _I am looking my friends, but I can't find them in this mess," is how I answer and then look at her with a smile. "What about you?"_

" _Oh, I am looking for my dog. I lost the sight of him the second I came here," she answers back and looks back towards the crowd._

 _I frown. "Are you sure that is safe? He could be crushed by the people, you know."_

 _The lady laughs, the sound booming and cutting through the fireworks' burning. "He will be fine. He is very strong. But are you sure that you should be worrying about an animal, right now?"_

 _"Huh?" I blink, a bit shocked by her nonchalant question. "I am serious! He could be hurt out there! You should be looking for him!"  
_

" _He will be fine. He is very strong," she says back, repeating the exact words she said a second ago. "Do you like that dress of yours?"_

 _I am momentarily confused by the question, but then find the feeling of disbelief fading and a smile stretching on my lips for the second time. "Yes! I love it!"_

 _She chuckles from my response, her voice sounding like light bells for some reason. "That is good to hear. I like it as well."_

" _I wish I could dance with it on, though. My friends promised to meet me here, so we could do that," I cross my arms while saying all of this, feeling a bit irritated. Wait. I know how to dance? Since when?_

" _I am afraid that you don't get a chance to do that," the woman says, sounding a bit disappointed. "Look, everyone is already going back to their houses."_

 _It is as she says. The crowd becomes smaller and smaller. Every person is retreating inside the buildings through different sized doors and the area keeps on getting emptier. The fireworks have stopped, the colorful and small pieces of papers have been flattened to the ground and the flowers have either started to dim or wilted away completely. The sky is turning into the very color of bright orange and gold, looking like a child's silly drawing. The clouds are too bluish and bright to belong to the sunset. The air stays warm, like the blazing light will not be leaving._

 _The chattering is fading, and deep disappointment makes my shoulders slump down. I wish my friends would have given me their location, so I wouldn't waste my time trying to search for them among the human mass. But… I guess it can't be helped anymore. The whole thing ended much quicker than I would have liked, though._

" _There he is," the woman beside me sounds happy and starts walking away, too. Though, she doesn't look like she is heading to any of the houses. Instead, she crouches down and reaches out with both hands. "Come here. Where have you been?"_

 _"You found your dog?" I ask. Honestly, I am glad someone's day turned out to be alright.  
_

 _The woman laughs again. "Actually, he found us. I think he was hiding from me on purpose."_

" _Really? So, he is a bit mischievous, then?" I ask with a bit of amusement, but it is immediately wiped from my face when I see a black animal walking slowly towards his owner. "H-he is huge!"_

 _And that is not exaggerating the truth. The dog is black, blacker than a bottle of black paint. And even if I am not standing next to it, I can easily see how it could easily reach above my hip just by standing on all fours. Though, the very thought of it getting any closer is making me back away unconsciously. One long pink tongue comes out of the huge mouth that cracks open to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. It is enough to make me feel more uneasy and unsure whether the woman is safe with an animal like that around. Rather, I am starting to think about running, but no doubt the dog would be able to catch up easily. Although, it probably doesn't have any reason to chase me in the first place.  
_

 _It doesn't stop me from inching away, though. Just looking at this animal is frightening enough. But the woman looks completely at ease with its presence and approaches.  
_

" _Do you not like animals?" The woman asks all of sudden and runs her hand across the beast's neck and back. It stops to sit down in obedience._

" _T-that is not really it. I am a bit scared because it is so large," I tell her honestly._

 _She chuckles and stands up. "Really? I think because he is like this that I feel more at ease. Rarely anyone would harm a person with a dog like this."_

 _I glance at the dog again to see its eyes staring at me. I swallow thickly and take a hold of my dress's hem. Since when have I been so comfortable in one? "I do not doubt that."_

" _Although," the woman turns around so that her own dress flutters in the air, "it always depends who dogs are the most loyal to. And this one took a liking to me, so I guess he is temporally my guardian."_

" _Well, I guess you are really lucky?" It comes out like a question. I am not really sure what I should say anymore. The dog keeps on making me feel uneasy and I can't stop myself from glancing at it. It returns my gaze every time._

 _"Lucky?" The woman asks and tilts her head, before looking down at her pet. Once again, it is impossible to tell the expression on her face through the blurry mess on it._

 _The dog yawns like he is becoming bored from sitting and listening. The sight of his canines both frightens and amazes me at the same time.  
_

"… _You are probably right."_

 _In the distance, another red firework is launched up into the air. It explodes brighter than the previous ones._

* * *

My eyes feel heavy, so I do not bother to open them when there is a row of knocks coming from the door. I think it must be either the room service – though I seriously doubt this place has any real service – or some random guest at this place trying to ask for directions or help in something. Now, the latter will make this sound horrible, but I still ignore the knocking, after considering that possibility. Even half-asleep, I remember that there is no way I can drive half-awake.

However, when the knocking doesn't cease, I have to groggily sit up. The room is still dark and when I look towards the curtains there is some little light coming from behind them on the sides. It is still day, which tells that I have not slept over my alarm. Though, it does make me curious – irritably so – how much longer I could have been sleeping without a distraction.

So, I look towards the alarm clock, only to see that I could have spent at least an hour in a lethargy. The very fact ticks me off and I throw my feet over the edge. Ideas of how I should confront the person behind the door start to fill my head and I clench the covers to the point I hear bones pop. Oh, how I want to tear that door wide open and scream my lungs out.

 _Calm._ I inhale sharply, ignoring the knocking and turning on the lights. My eyes burn from it, but I still stomp over to the bathroom to give myself a quick check over. _Keep it together. I can't start making a scene in here. I can_ _ **not**_ _afford drawing attention to yourself._

Next, I make it to the door and draw my eye closer to the eyehole on it. Whoever is knocking, they certainly don't seem to be ready to stop. Though, the pace the sounds keep on coming with insist that the person has the patience of a saint, unlike me. They don't seem to be in a hurry.

 _There are literally over ten other doors next to this room. Couldn't they have gone to them?_ Gritting my teeth together, I finally look through the door… only to see dark green fabric with a button. _What the hell?_

Not liking this, I take tentative steps back and stare at the door, hard. The knocking continues, but I don't make any moves to come close to it again. I didn't manage to see who it is, so there is only one option left for me.

I take in a deep breath and cross my arms. "W-who is there?"

Absurdly, the knocking stops, and a cold chill goes down my spine. My gut twitches uneasily and I take another step back, actually taking support from the wall next to me.

When nobody answers, I try again, louder. "Who is there?"

For the second time, there is no answer. Which makes the situation stranger – no, eerier. Swallowing thickly, I sneak to my bag and start to carefully pack everything. My heartbeat is raising, my hands are getting sweaty and shaking and I nearly drop something because of that. The room had previously been somewhat cool, but now it is like I am standing in the middle of a is getting hard to stay calm, yet, I am doing my best to force a calm façade on my face.

The knocking starts again, sending me almost to the floor. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest in a second.

"Who is there!?" This time, the panic must be obvious in my voice. At least, I can now hear it. _Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!_

Taking a shaky breath, when the knocking doesn't stop, I head towards the phone on a desk. It already has the reception desk's number and I quickly tap it down. I am surprised that this idea came into my head all of sudden. Usually, I am not that good with staying calm in cornered situations, but it must be the adrenaline that makes the cogs move inside my head.

It certainly takes a while – to me, it is an eternity – but finally, someone answers the phone.

" _This is the 'Lucky Molly' hotel's reception desk manager speaking,"_ it is the voice of the same man from when I came here.

"H-hello, this is miss H – Evergreen speaking from the room twenty-five," I correct my mistake quickly and cold sweat soaks my back. "There is a stranger knocking on my door. Can someone come and get them to leave, please?"

"Hm? A stranger? Haven't you tried to get them to leave by yourself?" The man asks, not sounding at least bit bothered by my worried tone.

I take in another shaky breath when I notice how the knocking has stopped for the second time. I answer almost in a teary panic, "Sir, please! I am scared, and I do not know this person. They have not answered my questions and I can't see their faces through the peephole. Please, help me!"

"Miss, please calm down. I will send someone right away," the man on the other line answers and I can only nod as he closes the line without waiting for my own reply.

Even though the knocking has not started again, I remain like a statue next to the phone. My eyes are keeping their line of sight on the door and I keep on listening to my harsh heartbeat. It is getting harder to breathe and plans of escape are starting to form in my head. I could use a pepper spray in my bag to distract whoever is behind the door and then make a run for it and drive away. Though, a frightening possibility that the person has a weapon makes my ideas die almost instantly. There is no way I could run away from a person like that. They would shoot me – without a doubt – if they saw me trying to flee away. Trying to harm them wouldn't also be a very wise decision. Though I am not very good with wise decisions – this outcome is the very proof of that.

But, what do they want with me, in the first place? Is the next question that occupies my crazed mind. They aren't necessarily after me because of what happened in German. Nor have I even confirmed that this wake up has anything to do with it. There could be an ordinary person behind that door who could be on drugs or simply drunk. But, if that is true, then I have started to panic for no reason.

Honestly, I hope that this will end up being a simple misunderstanding instead of a pursuit. I walk closer to my bag and clutch it, truly ready to try and open the door, if there will be commotion on the outside soon. If someone will truly come and check the situation, they will without a doubt get into a conversation with the person behind the door. That will give me a chance to escape.

 _But… what if it is a cop? Or an FBI agent or even someone from CIA?_ My face feels like it is paling and some lump forms in my throat. Of course, I have my doubts that Edmund is as stupid as pissing of an entire government and in a different continent. But whoever says it isn't a possibility as well?

Getting more than desperate, I open the curtain slightly to look out of the window. There is a good view of the parking lot from my room, so I am able to see if there are any unusual cars in the area. Fortunately, there doesn't seem to be any. _They could have disguised them, though._ My stomach drops, and my mouth grows dry. The options are lessening. Going through the window isn't an option because I am on a third floor and anyone could see me from here. _Why am I such a bloody prat!?_ I should have planned this out more thoroughly!

"Excuse me?" A muffled voice calls through the door as the person knocks. I freeze until they speak up again. "A call came from this room earlier. Is everything alright?"

Not wasting a second, I run to the door, look through the hole and confirm it to be one of this place's workers, before opening the door. The man behind it looks a bit startled and actually backs away. I can't blame him, though. I just almost flattened him without a warning.

I don't have time to be flustered, because I immediately start looking around the hallway. Then, I look at the man with a frown. "Was there anyone here, when you came? Someone kept on knocking onto my door and wouldn't speak."

"N-no, miss," he answers and then straightens up a bit. "Is there someone harassing you? Would you like to change rooms?"

I shake my head immediately. "No, thank you. I will be leaving today anyway. Are you sure that you did not see _anyone_ , though?"

He seems to be thinking for a second but then nods firmly. His attitude is different from the other man behind the reception desk. "I am quite certain."

I bite my lower lip but then nod with the same manner he had. "Alright. Thank you."

"We can certainly investigate this. There should be cameras in this hallway to tell who it had been."

The offer is tempting. I am certainly curious but at the same time, a little afraid and unsure. Would it be wise to waste my time on this or make a run for it immediately? Rather, what action would me make look more natural? In the end, I decide quickly.

"No, thank you. Like I said, I will be leaving today – in an hour – so there is no need. Though, you could look up whoever was in here to make sure nothing like this will happen again."

The man looks at me a bit unsurely – no doubt still thinking about helping me – and then nods again. "Of course. Have a good day, miss."

 _As good as it can get in this situation_ is what I think silently to myself, but give him a tight smile nonetheless. "Thank you."

I am not really sure how long my heart will keep on beating in the rhythm of a giant drum after I close the door. But when I do, my hands are shaking. Badly so. I can't even make it to the table where all of my stuff is when I am already falling back down to the bed. It hasn't stopped smelling like shampoo, yet. I hug a pillow close to my chest, trying to calm my harsh breaths that keep on making my shoulders rise and fall.

 _That was close,_ is what I think. But the thought of something worse happening enters into my head over and over again. So, I can't relax again and stand up. _I have to leave._

And that is exactly what I do in a second. The bag is in my hand and I walk out of the room. I run on the way to the same man from before, but he doesn't say anything and neither do I. He merely makes way for me and I descend down to the first floor in silence, not worrying if the person who had been knocking on my door is still in the building. They can't do anything with people around, right?

I shake my head. _Stop it. It could have been a drunk or simply a weird person behind the door._ My paranoid mind keeps on saying otherwise.


	4. Chapter 4: Running and failing

**DaydreaminPanda: Thank you! Oh, and sorry for the grammar mistakes. English is not my mother language, but at least I have improved in it. You should have seen how I wrote when I first started writing stories… not a pleasant memory. Anyway! Enough about me! I hope that you will like this chapter!**

 **Guest: I am glad you like this story so far. I also can't pretty much help writing too much information. When I try to lessen it, I feel like I am writing too little and that scares me! If you think that this chapter has too much information… Oops! I am not offended or depressed, though! Just give me your honest opinion and I can be improved. All writing aside, have fun reading this new chapter!**

* * *

 **Wow. I haven't written this story since June. I feel bad to have kept you all waiting.**

 **However, I have complained about this one thing for a while in my stories, and I am sorry, but I am going to do it again… School is a hell on earth! I love reading, I love my teachers, I love my school and friends, I really do, but too much is too much! Can you guys even believe that I only started writing this chapter** _ **today**_ **? I have been boiling with inspiration for more than a week and a half! (Sorry about this short rant. The day has been exhausting when you have done almost nothing but written a new chapter. Plus, I am pretty much alone in my house, so I can't complain to anyone else. The weather here is cloudy and rainy, too...) And because of my educating books weighting like a pile of bricks, my backpack is broken. The zipper opens on its own, the fabric is worn out and I fear that there might soon even be a hole on the bottom where the notes and books come falling out while I am in the middle of a city.**

 **Sorry about this complain here, again. It is night-time where I am, and my eyes are barely open, right now. Still, I am very proud to have finished this chapter. It is almost literally made out of my blood (seriously, my fingers could fall off from tapping), sweat and tears. So, enjoy.**

 **I will give you guys a spoiler, though. In this chapter, there comes a character who isn't exactly a talkative social butterfly, so expect there to be almost no words exchanged at some parts.**

* * *

 _Chapter 4: Running and failing_

* * *

 _(February 6th, 1999.)_

Red lights keep on flashing in the middle of the road, as both officers and hospital staff fuss around the scene. There is blood, not splattered wildly around, but pooled around the bodies. At first, every professional at the road though it was their minds playing tricks. But as soon as the lights of the cars and flashlights were used… their faces paled.

The sight is more than a bit gruesome, to say the least. Three men's lifeless corpses are laying on the side of the road. The first thing the polices take a note of is that they are all in different places and thoughts of escape attempts is the first option. Though, as far as their bodies are concerned, it is their state that is both disturbing and strange.

The first one has had his head twisted into a sick angle. The second one has blood coming out of his head and the third male died pretty much the same way the first did. And also, all three have looks that they probably wore before their deaths, they are warped into grimaces. Whatever they saw or whatever they had felt in the end, was definitely not pleasant.

"Go and check the cars."

As soon as everything of the bodies has been examined in the bright light and the bodies are covered, the sun starts to rise up on the horizon. The mist of the forest rises, but the blood stains on the concrete road have not faded. This isn't a nightmare nor a dream.

An officer walks over to the yellow tape that has been placed over the murder scene. He doesn't walk past it, though, but stays where he is with a frown marring his already wrinkled features. Over the years that he has been doing this job, never before has he encountered a scene such as this.

His eyes turn to look at the two vehicles left on the side of the road. One of them is bright red and the other one is grey. Bright and plain. New and old. Intact and broken. The latter is obviously directed at the grey one. The sides have dents on them – not large ones, though. More like someone had used enough force to slam either their feet or a dull object against the metal. Two of the windows have been shattered and one door is hanging wide open. The clogs in the policeman's brain start to rack.

 _How horrible._

The person who had called to the emergency center had talked about being attacked by hooligans. Also, he has been informed that the caller had been a female, judging by the sound of the voice. Unfortunately, the caller hadn't given her name, but it is clear to see that there is no female body in this crime scene.

His frown deepens. This doesn't make any sense to him.

"We got a lead," a coworker walks up to him, white puffs of smoke leaving from his mouth as he speaks heavily. He should sound happy, they both should be pleased. But neither are.

"… What is it?" The policeman decides to finally ask. This case is making his stomach turn around, it did the minute he saw all the blood. There will be no beef for him at least for two weeks.

The other policeman gestures towards the wrecked car, his expression a tad softer. "There were pieces of long hair inside that car. We suspect they belong to the one who called the emergency center. We will be sending the samples to the lab."

"Has anything else been found?"

"The car seems to have broken down while driving down this road. The engine is old and barely functional so it could be that the one who called for help had to stop here because it broke down."

Despite that their conversation subject is about an old car, both minds keep on wandering back to the corpses they saw. The way those men were killed… was truly _inhuman_.

* * *

 _(Eleven and a half hour ago, February 5th, 1999)_

It comes out of nowhere, unexpectedly.

I am driving calmly on a peaceful road through a forest. I am not sure whether it is a large or small one. All I see are trees after trees and that is completely fine with me. It is better than glancing at every nearby car that comes my way and getting paranoid thoughts. Still, this is the last place where I would ever want my car to kick the bucket. It seems isolated.

The engine lets out an ugly sound and my face twists into a panicked expression. "No, no, no, no! Don't you dare!"

With quick movements, I manage to turn the vehicle to the side of the road. And just in time before the whole thing just shuts down and a loud pop comes out from somewhere within its mechanism. The car is now completely stopped, and I am sitting on the front seat with my hands clenched around the steering wheel. My face pales and cold sweat trails down the length of my back.

Praying that this is a nightmare, I walk over to the front of the car and open it. Grey, bitter smoke hits my face immediately, heat following it to the outside air which is much cooler. I back away, coughing and eyes stinging.

Shaking my head, I wave the smoke away from my face and try peering into the depths of metals. "No, no, no, nope! Don't you dare to be broken!"

My pleas to an unliving construction are in vain. What I see confirms the fact that this piece of junk won't be moving anywhere anymore. It should have been obvious, though. This thing was cheap, it was bound to break sooner or later, but I would have never guessed that it would stop at this location. Where any kind of residence is more than three miles away.

The facts are making my face pale further. _Stay calm._ It is hard to keep my composure. _Deep breaths. I can always highjack a car… No, I have never done that. Can I trust strangers to take me all the way, though? There is no way. Maybe half-way is better? No, scratch that!_ In frustration and panic, I run my hand through the mess of my brown locks. I was anticipating for this to happen, but now that it has come down to it I can't seem to recall what I planned to do. _R-right. First, know where I am. That is easy. Then, check the nearest gas station – it is only around two miles if I head back._ The color of the orange sky and the faint light of the sun is somewhat glaring, as I look over to the horizon. There is no way that I can walk back before it is pitch black and hard to see. Plus, there aren't any lights through the forest to guide me. Not to mention there can be wild animals around, as well.

Unsurely and slightly worried, I wrap my arms around myself. There is really no reason for me to stay positive in this situation. There haven't been any cars around since a while back I drove down this road. It is getting dark and probably only a few will cross this road during that time. This route isn't exactly one of the hot spots to drive through while on a vacation. That is why I chose it, but…

The muscles on my face are twitching and both nervousness and coldness are making me tremble. _I am such an idiot!_

Suddenly, a car appears on the road, coming from the same direction as I had. Without pausing, I start to wave my arms to catch the driver's attention.

"Hey!" I holler, praying that too will get me some attention. A car with clear smoke coming out of it should be the first sign of distress, though.

However, instead of driving past me and stopping a few feet away, the car completely ignores me. It literally flees across the concrete ground as fast as it can. It is like the driver couldn't care less that there is a person in obvious need of help.

"W-wait! Hey!" I yell out again, reaching helplessly towards the escaping vehicle. "Damnit! Stop!"

 _T-this can't be happening!?_

"What kind of person," I grit out between my teeth in a silent hiss, eye twitching, "would leave someone standing on the road like a damn duck! I hope your car will be blown to pieces!" My screams pierce the air but do not make the furthering car stop.

More frustrated further than before and not being able to bear standing, I go back inside the car, lock it from the inside and open the window slightly to get rid of the smell of smoke, praying that the whole car won't explode while I am in it. Though, I would rather vanish in flames than freeze and die of hypothermia. Maybe it would also be better for me to die here. Then, I wouldn't be bothered by the fact that I am stuck in the middle of a forest inside this car, that some stranger saw me and showed that they couldn't care less. If I were to die here, I could let go of these crushing emotions building inside of me. It is strange. One minute I forget all about what I have done, but even being in this car is a reminder of what I have done. _A criminal, a coward who ran away from her home, left her family without certainty of returning…_ All these words keep on making my chest feel heavy.

Still, there is no way I can continue my escape for a while at least.

Tired, but not yet completely defeated, I crawl to the back seat and lay down with my diary. It is not because I am going to write on it, though. My head is hurting again, and I don't want to waste the painkillers just yet. So, I focus my remaining energy on doodling, dragging my pen across the pages with no practical idea in mind.

However, I find that my hand barely moves across the paper. My mind is blank.

 _I should really sleep._ And so, I place the diary next to me and close my eyes, ignoring the slight ache inside my head and the tightening of my muscles whenever too frightening thoughts enter it. Maybe sleep would help me get rid of the heavy thoughts. I haven't gotten much of it anyway.

Somewhere, inside the memory of my hearing, I can still recall that knocking against the hotel's door.

* * *

 _I do not know what I am running away from, but dread keeps on pooling inside my stomach. The clothes I am wearing are heavy as well and they keep on dragging me down. It does not help that my road is full of white snow that keeps on sinking my legs into its depth, nearly tripping me at every step. The white substance feels like it is reaching nearly to my knees and I silently curse it. The whole winter weather seems to want for me to fall._

 _ **Winter? I thought it was summer,**_ _in the middle of my confusion, I nearly trip, again. From my point of view, the trees are humongous and hover over my measly form like giants. My fear intensifies without a real reason. So, I just keep on running._

 _Without even looking back, I know that the threat keeps on approaching. Its gaze bores into my back like two sharp ends of arrows. It feels like they are piercing the flesh on my back and I shiver despite not feeling any coldness through the fabrics around me. They are now tangling around me like ready to be taken away by a strong breeze. I cling to them tightly._

 _A large tree is standing right in front of me and I can only see it after nearly running into it. My hands slam against its firm trunk and I quickly round it…_

 _Only for my feet sink into the ground and my balance being lost from gravity._

 _ **You must escape.**_

 _My back meets with the ground and I roll down a steep hill. Sticks and stones dig into me underneath the pile of snow I flatten on my way. I can't stop falling deeper into a pit._

 _ **Run, before the monster catches you.**_

 _The rolling stops and my body lays frozen on the ground. I am not sure if a storm of some sort has started, or that I am covered completely in snow, but my limbs are suddenly cold. Needle-like sensation bites my face and numbs any sensation of warmth I have left._

 _Still, despite this all, I feel welcomed into the cold embrace. Everything is white and peaceful. I can't hear a thing and it is like sleeping inside my room, in my soft bed and ready to fall asleep. This feels so peaceful after the running I have been doing._

 _ **Don't let it catch you!**_

 _The fear returns tenfold and I scramble up to my feet. Maybe it is because I have fallen, but it is still cold. Most of my garments must have fallen during the fall._

 _Whatever had been chasing me above has followed me down to this new forest. Its shadow crawls against the white snow and surrounds me. The creature is not close enough to touch me, but it surely will soon. The snow feels as if it is reaching my hips, now._

 _A hand grabs the back of my neck, halting my movements and slamming me down into the ground. My voice and airways are blocked by the mass of snow and I can't get up. The hand is large and continues pressing me further down – the snow cocoons me. I continue struggling, though. My chaser's touch is barely there, but the grip is firm, and it is like I have the strength of a newborn child. I guess, that this is the end for me…_

 _However, before the cold snow can consume me fully, I am flipped around._

 _My eyes open and through a haze I see a pair of glowing red eye staring down at me harshly. My mouth grows dry and my heart skips a beat. The throbbing in my chest feels too real for this to be a figment of my imagination._

 _Whoever is hovering above me opens their mouth wide and my eyes widen further. Sharp, large white teeth flash in the darkness of the forest._

 _A shrill scream belonging to a woman shatters my eardrums with words: "_ _ **Run**_ _!"_

* * *

My eyes open slowly, as I shiver. During my short sleep, the coat I had used as a blanket had slipped down to the floor and I am laying across the backseats without much protection from the chilly air. I don't need to see through the darkness in the car to understand that much. The window is still open and a loud breeze howls as it enters and wraps around me. I shiver again and quickly touch the floor to find my coat. I find it quickly, put it on and close the window. The damage has already been done, though. Without the car on, it won't offer me much protection through the night.

But it explains very well why the coldness in the dream had felt so real… _Huh? What was I dreaming about again?_

The thoughts are cut off by a sharp pain in my skull. The headache is back.

Annoyed, I reach out into my pocket and take out one pill before swallowing it dryly. I hate to have no water for this and the fact that my throat is chapped and dry does nothing to lighten my mood. At least the smell of smoke seems to be gone and I can breathe in this metal box, now.

I lay back down, but let out a grunt, when the back of my head collides with a hard surface – it is my diary. _Ow. Why did I sleep next to it again?_ The contact with it seems to worsen my headache and I carelessly toss it into my bag. I think my aim is good enough in the dark. Next, I drag out my phone and check the time. _Eleven-thirty? It isn't even midnight, yet.  
_

Disgruntled, I toss the phone away, too. I am cold, in pain and those two are making me feel cranky. Not to mention it is pitch black outside and I can barely see the trees and the road. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I curl back down into a sleeping position. I wish to rest, again.

However, before I can close my eyelids, there is another sharp pain in my skull. The pain travels like lightning across the nerve system of my entire head and slices knives throughout the flesh.

It is worse than the ones I have had before and snaps my mouth wide open. A gasp leaves from the depths of my throat and I squeeze my eyes tightly together. My entire body has grown stiff like a rock. _W-what the…_

The thoughts trail off and then another sheer force of knives attack the inside of my brain. "Ah!"

The hairs on my body stand up from another violent shudder rocking my body. And it seems to be enough to create another wave of pain. A small whimper parts from my lips and I clutch my head weakly. I fear that any kind of small pressure would cause the skull to split in half. _It hurts!_ The pain feels like it is spreading. _W-where are the painkillers?_ The sharpness drips down across my neck, following the spine and moving forward in agonizingly slow pace. _Stop!_

Suddenly, after a pathetic whimper, the headache dulls. The throbbing remains, and I slump against the seats limply. My facial muscles that were clenching just a second ago, become slack and a huge sigh of relief passes through my half-open mouth. Whatever monster had tormented me inside my head, it has gone away.

… _What was that?_

 _ **Knock! Knock!**_

I jump from the dull sound and freeze from seeing a form of a person standing on the other side of the door and knocking their knuckles against the glass. Still, a bit shook and worried by a thought of a brain cancer, I just stare dumbly at them, until they wave, and I can see rows of teeth from a smile they are giving me.

"Are you alright?" The car's walls let in the sound of a foreign voice. It belongs to a male."

I frown for a second, but then sit up and roll down the window slightly. "Yes?" Thinking for a second, my hand nearly opens the whole door. But I put my guard up and don't even lower the glass half-way. There is enough space for my voice to be heard. "Is there something you wanted… sir?"

He blinks a few times. "No – I mean, we saw your car stopped here and wanted to check if the driver was around. Are you by yourself, ma'am?"

I blink back once and then turn my head slightly. It takes a few seconds for me to adjust to the dark, but then I see another car parked and stopped a few distances away from mine. It has lights on and I see another two figures standing by it. One of them is leaning against a door and another is standing with his hands crossed and looking at my vehicle's way.

My mouth turns dry and my heart skips a beat. I look back to the man and take a note of how a slight scent of tobacco trails in through the window's opening. "No," I lie with a straight face, but my palms are starting to get sweaty. I pray that I am just being paranoid. "My h _-husband_ was picked up by a friend a little while ago and they went to a gas station... It has been a while since they left so they should be back soon enough."

"Really?" The man asks. "The nearest is quite some distance away – and they left you here alone? How about the three of us stay here to make sure you are alright?"

I nearly want to ask 'why' but bite my tongue. "That isn't n-necessary… But thank you! I-I will be fine."

"Hey, Mark? What is taking so long?" One of the two men has come next to my car. His posture and movement are slack if that is how you can describe it nicely. Honestly, in my eyes, I see a drunk and he even starts leaning against my car like he owns it. "Hey, lady!"

I almost flinch, when he yells directly against the open window. A breeze from it hits my face and my nose twitches from the odor of bitter alcohol. Goosebumps rise on my entire body and now I am sure that I want to keep the car closed. It is currently my only sanctuary.

The man continues, just as loudly: "Why are you sitting there all lonesome, huh? You can come out, you know?"

"N-no, thank you. It is quite cold outside," I reply nervously, but realize later that it might have not been the wisest thing to say.

The man's mouth is mostly visible, and its corners turn up. His breath creates white steam on the glass, as he speaks his next words: "Then, we can come in there and warm you up."

The entire car jerks, when he tries to open the door rather violently. I jerk with it and back away from the two of them. Tension rises, and my hands clutch the fabric of the seats in sheer panic as my heartbeat rises over the roof. I had heard and seen news of these types of situations, but I would have never imagined landing myself into a one. I am alarmed and truly frightened. There are three of these men and I alone can't do much. I also have nothing to defend myself with – there really is a flaw in my plans. I should have at least brought a pepper spray. Also… even if I were to call the police now, I doubt that they would make here in time. This is in the middle of nowhere, after all.

The man on the window is pulled back roughly. "Hey! Quit it! I am sorry, ma'am! He has been drinking too much tonight."

Despite the fact that the drunk one is now further away from me, in my eyes these men are still a threat. I remain in the middle of the backseats and watch them through the glass carefully, resisting an urge to reach forward and close the whole thing.

"Don't strangle me! Let me go!" The one being held back by his companion grunts out when he is pulled further back.

"Shut up, you idiot! You are scaring her," the one being more sensible hisses out.

My heartbeat keeps on ringing in my ears, as I watch the two of them. An option of bursting out of this car and running into the deepest part of the forest seems like a sensible move now, for some bizarre reason. In fact, half of me wants to do that, but the large, scared part keeps me on the spot like a frozen mouse. I am not sure, whether these people mean harm or not. I wish that this one man is the only drunk in the whole group.

 _What should I do?_ If my non-existent 'husband' doesn't come soon, then I might as well be caught lying right now. It isn't a good lie, to begin with, now that I think about it. No normal person would leave another in the middle of a dark forest and into a car that has no heather.

The air is flowing in through the window, but I feel like not enough is getting into my lungs. My head is starting to throb again. _No, not now. Not again. Please, just not now of all times._

"This is stupid," a new voice speaks loudly. The third guy approaches the car now. "Let's just hurry up and grab her."

The atmosphere had been tensing enough before, but now it escalates, and my heart nearly stops beating inside my ribcage. An agonizing headache continues to intensify with it and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. For a moment, I pray that the words true meaning had been twisted because of the metal surrounding the car.

Two pairs of eyes that had been glaring at each other in an argument solidify and trail through the glass and to me. Cold ice fills the bottom of my stomach as I stare with wide eyes at them. Cold sweat drips down my back as they loosen their holds on each other and take my firmer stand. The other man that was covered in the stench of tobacco doesn't seem to be the sensible one, anymore. He is just as terrifying as the drunk one. And now that the third one has joined them, I feel like he is no different – just a scary man who is either drunk or plainly cruel.

The car jerk's again and my head whirls around to see the third man trying to open the door. His face is smeared by the dark. "Open up."

"We should just break the whole door."

"No, let's damage the whole car. If somebody finds it, they will think it was left here on purpose. The damn thing looks half-dead, already."

I don't want to listen, but I keep on hearing their voices nonetheless. The car jerks again, this time from something being slammed against it and it comes from the side where the two other men are. The one reeking of alcohol has started kicking the door – my face pales from each time it feels as if the car will fall from the force.

 _No, please stop this._ My mouth is clamped shut, but I do reach out for my bag hastily while the men start to damage the metal vehicle. They yell, taunt me, tell me to come out quietly and let them take me… As if those things would make me more willing to step out of my sanctuary. The muscles in my gut keep on clenching from each blow and provocative call.

I am not calm, not calm at all and yelp almost every time the car rocks back and forth. _Are these people crazy!?_ Still, my shaky hands manage to grab my bag and start to unzip it. The cover of my diary brushes my palm, but I reach out even further and find my telephone. It had fallen all the way under one of my shirts.

"She has got a phone!"

"Hurry up and open, bitch!"

Swallowing thickly, I type a number quickly and bring the phone to my ear, pressing my back against the seat. It feels like a whole minute has passed when somebody finally picks up the call.

" _The emergency center-"_

I don't let the woman finish. "Help! I am being attacked!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Another kick is delivered and causes me to fall to my side. My forehead meets with the harsh surface of the door and for a second I see stars. The man keeps on yelling: "Put the damn thing down you-"

" _Hello? Ma'am? Can you hear me?"_ The woman calls as I try to regain my train of thoughts.

Shakily, I get up and freeze. There is a crack on the glass of one of the windows. "T-there are three men surrounding my car and I am i-in it! They are trying to b-break in! Help!"

" _Ma'am, calm down. Three men are trying to break into your car, right?"_

"Yes!"

" _Do you know them?"_

I nearly want to scream hysterically. "Of course, I don't! Hurry up! They have broken a window!"

" _What is your name, and address?"  
_

"I am in the middle of a forest road called…" I skip my name and tell all the other information. I feel like throwing up and curling into a crying ball. The fall against the door must have been harsh because my skull hurts like it is being pounded with a fist. _Is this how my life is supposed to end?_ Honestly, being put behind bars, facing charges of helping Edmund to break and escape into houses of people and face the utter shame from my family would be much better than this. These men could do anything to me right now and by the time help would come…

Tears gather into my eyes. There are so many reasons for me to be allowed to cry, now. But… I brought this all upon myself. It was all so that I could get money, it was all because I took a huge risk and didn't tell mother or Michael anything and it is all because I didn't say 'no' to my childhood friend's request.

It gets hard to listen to what the woman on the other end is saying. Something about staying calm and saying that the police are coming. I close my eyes tightly, praying for this to be a mere nightmare. I bring my knees to my chest, listening to my frightened thoughts and wildly beating heart. The phone is being clutched in my hands as I wait for one of the men to deliver the final blow to break a door.

However, instead of hearing the sound of glass shattering, I hear a piercing scream instead and then a sudden silence.

…

…

…

I lift my eyes from my knees shakily, glancing around through the window. The other car's light shines enough from the distance for me to make out the forms of three – no, two men. I do not know where the third is, but I do notice how frozen the two others are now – like startled deer.

"M-mark!"

"W-who the hell are you!?"

A sharp pain crawls all around my head, seething inside my brain like boiling water. I wince but remain stiff and seated. Still, a question echoes inside my aching head: _What is going on?_

Another scream fills the air, and I flinch violently, ignoring the pain and looking back between the two men. However, this time there seem to be three figures in my line of sight again. The phone drops from my shaky hand.

" _Hello? Ma'am? Ma'am! Are you alright? What is happening there?"_ The woman on the other end keeps on talking, obvious to what kind of gravity my situation holds.

Someone has appeared out of nowhere and he is holding… A man up by his head and off the ground.

The saliva in my mouth dries and my breath hitches. I can't believe what I am seeing and think this is an illusion. I blink, but the image stays the same through the glass. Despite the dark, I can see that this person is huge, his from large and firm and his wide back is towards me. They are still holding one of my attackers without any effort, though, and I almost think it is happening with one hand only. Compared to this person, the feet that are kicking air in desperate movements look like two thin sticks. And soon, they grow limp.

I turn my head robotically to the other side of the car and look at the remaining man from the previous three. He is just as frozen as I am but manages to take a step back.

A sickening _**crack**_ freezes the air and my head whips around to see the once tangling man dropped down.

Something flips in my stomach and my eyes widen in horror. With two shaky hands, I cover my gaping mouth and fall against the door behind my back. _D-did that guy… j-just…?_ Acid-like sensation starts climbing up my throat as my stomach clenches.

The memories of what I dreamt a while ago inside this very car come back with full force. The same terror that I felt while running through hazy forest inside the dark nightmare. The coldness of the air intensifies the likeness and fear sends familiar shockwaves through my spine.

The large figure turns slightly, and he is tall enough for me not to see his head from the way I am crushed against the furthest door and cushion. However, the tension rises to the point it can choke the air out of anyone.

 _Run._

If I could have my voice and not try and hide in my car, I would start screaming. Just like the other man watching the whole thing. "AAAAAAAAH! A MONSTER!"

A spark of sharp pain flashes in the back of my skull.

 _Run, before the monster catches you…_

I can't move. My entire body is frozen solid and can't stop trembling. I feel like I am looking at a monster from my nightmare and stop thinking.

Whatever or whoever this new person is, what he has done in a matter of seconds is abnormal. Tangling someone and then… The oxygen stops circulating through my body and my fingers dig into the skin of my face. I am trying so hard not to open my mouth like that could actually keep me any safer. A strangled scream is desperately trying to tear its way out of my mouth.

The person clad in dark – how else could I explain his appearance? – starts moving. I start literally crying with hysteric breaths coming out of my mouth.

"D-don't come here! S-s-stay a-a-away!" The poor soul who had been just a few minutes ago been trying to break down the car and assault me is screaming like he is the victim now.

The large person is now at the front of the car and I react to his location like opposite poles of a magnet. I move back and slide across the backseats as carefully and smoothly as I am able to. I have to move, I have to find a way to get away. Every sense I have left is screaming for me to get a grip of my shaky limbs and make a run for it.

 _Run!_

The man who had acted so high and mighty – before this _person_ came – is screaming hysterically, when I rip the door open. It creaks loudly and the already cracked glass seems to grow in length in every direction. Cold breeze hits me immediately, sending a violent shudder up and down my body.

The rate that my heart is beating with is escalating over the world's ceiling – the sky – and the hairs on the back of my neck tingle. It is like I can feel that there is somebody watching me, and I nearly lose my footing from a fear of being grabbed.

I run down the hill filled with grass, away from the road. I slip and fall down at the end but quickly get back up. It is so dark I can barely avoid letting my feet falling into a small stream between the forest and the road, though. The water soaks my shoes and socks, it is cold.

When I pass the first few trees, I almost want to scream. I have actually managed to get this far without being stopped or caught. However, it is so dark, now. And I can barely move forward without actually smashing into a tree. Roots, fallen small and sharp branches dig through my shoes into my feet. A tree branch swats me into face and I sputter, before dashing forward more urgently while a stinging sensation spreads all over my facial features. _Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!_

I crash into a final tree – it is in my mind the last one I will crash into tonight – and let my hands grip its trunk for support. I look over my shoulder, but of course, I can see nothing through the dark. The night sky does seem to have few stars, as I tilt my head up, but other than that it is just as disoriented as this forest.

When there is no other sound but the silence and my own rabid breaths, I sink down against the rough wood. It is like all the strength from running is leaving my legs and I realize just how cold it truly is outside of the car. Goosebumps spread all over my trembling body. _W-what was that!? Wh-who o-or what…_ I cover my face with my cold hands. _O-oh my god! I saw someone g-getting murdered!_ My thoughts refuse to settle and calm down, so tears begin to trail down my face. _Why… why is this happening?_ Whatever food I have left inside my stomach, even small bits of crumbled bread, it threatens to rise up. I thought all that I have gone through was bad enough, but now it is like the weight of the world is crashing on me.

 _I must escape. I can't let it catch me,_ those words are like mantra repeating inside my aching skull. Still, it is a struggle to get back to my feet. _I must continue running. That person will come and kill me. I must get away!_

However, just when I am already on my two feet and ready to run again, a cold chill goes down my has to be the cold air, is what I tell myself… But my heart stops when I hear footsteps – they are _heavy_ and _near_.

The footsteps stop, as soon as my breath hitches quietly under my breath. It is like whatever is standing here has heard that tiny sound.

The air is suddenly so much colder, yet, my body doesn't tremble. The muscles have frozen solid and I don't even move my eyes from the downcasted position they are in. I can't still see pretty much anything, and I don't think that the new presence can either… So, why do I feel like _he_ can?

 _M-maybe I h-haven't been s-spotted yet?_ that is my silent prayer. My heartbeat sounds like a loud drum and I fear immensely that it can be heard outside my ribcage.

I stop breathing and slowly turn my head, my mind grows fuzzy and unsettled. There is no order for my thoughts… My heart stops for the second time.

In the dark, I can finally see something. A _glowing_ red orb.

The monster from my nightmare.

The strength leaves from my legs and I stumble back, my back meeting with the bark of the tree. The eye doesn't even blink.

 _A nightmare, a nightmare, a nightmare… This is nothing but a nightmare! Not real! Not real!_ However, the coldness, the downright horror etched on my mind and face and the memory of hearing those men screaming are all too real.

I blink once, hot and stinging tears escaping from my eyes and trailing down my face.

In a second, the red eye is gone, but a new chill settles into my gut. Something is in front of me. I can distinguish a new color and wrinkles of clothes and my mouth opens wide to scream only for a large hand to block it. "Hngh! Mpf!"

The hand pushes me back and crashes my head with the tree. The hand stays still and another one presses against my chest just under the collarbone. I struggle and raise my hands to pry the hands away – they are both covered by gloves – but they won't budge. Tears stream down my face and I can't stop screaming. I kick, try to bite the hand, trash, but nothing works. In the end, the only thing I can do is look up.

The red-eye meets my brown ones in the dark and all my movements cease. I am terrified. If it weren't for the hands holding me firmly in place against a tree, I would collapse. _What do you want from me?_ is what I want to ask. But even if I was able to do so through the thick hand on my mouth, it would come as a hysterical and stuttering mess.

Finally, after what feels like eternity and thousand years, the hand on my mouth moves away. On instinct, I try to rip off the hand on my chest.

Once the hand is only a half of an inch away from my mouth, I scream with everything I have. "EEEEEEEEEEEEK!"

The action makes both of the hands return with full force.

A cold chill goes down my spine. _H-he is going to kill me!_ More tears come out from my eyes as I close them tightly and my entire body stiffens, ready to be stabbed, strangled or beaten.

However, nothing happens. The arms stay still, and I hear gusts of breathing through the ringing in my ears. My heartbeat doesn't slow down. I will not drop my guard, just because I haven't been hurt, yet. This is definitely the same person who cold-bloodedly murdered that one man right outside of my car!

The silence is suffocating, and I open my eyes shakily. _W-why isn't h-he saying anything?_

The red-eye is still staring down at me almost blankly. Through what I assume are curtains of hair I see another one. It is just as red and bright that my stomach drops. Knowing he has two eyes instead of one does not brighten this situation. This is nearly the same as in the nightmare I had in the car. I am cold, someone is holding me down… and those eyes.

I shiver, blink and keep letting the tears come out.

All of sudden, the hand on my mouth starts leaving again. But this time I bite down harshly on my tongue and keep my mouth in a straight line. I can now distinguish the hand – the glove on it is white, or maybe some other light color – I don't know – and watch as it is raised up to the stranger's face. One finger is raised.

 _Is… he is telling me to be quiet?_ I want to the exact opposite and bite even more harshly down on my tongue. A sound threatens to escape from the back of my throat.

Still, I am scared and tremble under the intensity of the gaze. So, reluctantly and stiffly, I give a small, barely noticeable nod. The hand on my chest withdraws slowly, but I do not move. Reality is worse than a nightmare. I could really die tonight, and it paralyzes me to the bone. If this person found me in these dark woods so quickly and effortlessly, then what hope do I now have?

A yelp comes out of my mouth, when I suddenly raised by my sides – the touch makes my stomach flip and face twitch into a horrified expression – and placed on a shoulder. The world spins.

 _I should have run faster._

* * *

 **I feel stupid for asking this, but do you have any idea who Nancy has just encountered? From now on, I have to practice my skills in writing a mute character… I am not sure whether to be excited from the challenge or horrified.**

 **Anyways, the same old story: Please, do give this story comments.**


	5. Chapter 5: A novice survivor

**DaydreaminPanda: We have a winner! Yeah, the question was kind of silly, to begin with. Who else could match the description, right?**

 **Sarcasticartist99: I am so happy to hear that and am also sorry for taking so long with an update. I hope that you will like this chapter.**

 **AutumnOrchid: Yup. You are correct, as well. It is Captain and as for why he is here… I will let you readers pick up the pieces and put the puzzles together, for some time.**

* * *

 _Chapter 5: A novice survivor_

* * *

The young boy – between ages of a teenager and an adult – watches as his mother frantically paces around the room with her slippers on. There is a look of distress on her already sickly and pale features, but it is not from pain or physical discomfort, so he shouldn't feel worried. But he is and clenches his fists together, as he continues watching her in case her energy runs low in the last minute and she needs rest. That is at least what he has been hoping to happen for the past twenty-five minutes.

The room has been filled with a tense atmosphere. The kind that is like glass and easily breakable. However, Michael has done nothing to make it shatter nor has a nurse or a doctor come inside to do so for him. Instead, he has continued seeing how his own parent can't calm down and keeps on fretting over the circumstances.

Finally, he has had enough. "Mom, _please_ , you have to rest."

The woman pauses and looks sharply at her son. "How can you say that to me? More importantly, did you contact the police station?"

Michael lets out an exasperated sound beneath his breath, trying to control his rising temper with her. "Yes, mom. Yesterday – don't you _remember_? They came even here to ask questions from you."

"Do _not_ use that tone with me, Michael," Jane warns, but soon goes back to pacing.

Despite himself feeling a tad bit irritated by hearing her tone, the boy's eyes trail up to where Jane's shaved head is hiding underneath the bandages. They have been changes and the wounds are according to doctors healing nicely, but they also told him that Jane should take it easy. Her health should stay under the careful supervision of the hospital staff. Other than that, she has almost regained her usual spunkiness and is even now showing how much energy she suddenly has.

Michael may not have admitted this out loud, but while their situation is bad, he can't help but feel a bit relieved to see his mother like this. He can barely see any trace of that weak and sickly woman laying in bed almost half of the time he has visited her. There is a fire in her eyes now, though, it is also smothered by her worry and nearing the edge of having a panic attack. The last thought makes him feel a bit guilty and he lowers his head to look at the ground – telling Jane about Nancy had been a bad idea. But before he could have even thought of it properly, those policemen had come to the hospital and told the widowing single mother the news.

His hands tighten further on the edges of the chair. _Bastards._ They saw how unwell she had been. Why give her more to worry about?

The boy's eyes look up just in time to see his mother stop pacing. Michael's eyes widen from seeing her posture wavering a bit and panic seizes him he instantly stands up like the seat is burning him. Jane reaches out for support from the bed just in time.

"Mom, you should lay down. C'mon, now. The doctors said you need rest," the son of the swaying woman says softly, walking over to her.

Jane's face is constricted into a frown, her fingers clutching the sheaths tightly in her grasp. "Michael… where on earth could she be?"

He supports her, guiding Jane gently to the bed with equally gentle hands. "…I don't know mom. But you must not forget to take care of yourself."

"Oh, how can I?" She almost cries out, but her voice is too soft and weak. When Michael looks at her face, he feels his chest tighten from seeing the glazed over eyes. " _Why_ would she go missing?"

"…I don't know," he says, repeating himself, but another sensation of gnawing pain enters his gut. It is a reminder of how he is keeping things vague from his own parent – how much he is suspecting and guessing scenarios for his sister.

Jane stares up at the ceiling, letting her son pull the covers up to her chin and check the tube implanted into her hand. "She… she was so cheerful on my birthday… W-why? Why would she j-just run away? She isn't that kind of person, Michael. I tried to tell it to the police officers, but… but they…"

He takes a hold of her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I know, mom. I told them the same thing."

"It just doesn't make sense. Something terrible must have happened to her – I just know it," Jane says, voice wavering and eyes watering even further. "Someone must have kidnapped her o-or worse."

"Mom! Please, do not think such things," Michael says, not letting go of her hand.

Her eyes, so brown and dark, like her children's, look at him with hopelessness. "How can I not think such things?"

"I know how you feel, but you aren't even fully healthy, yet. So, just please, try to calm down and let the police take care of this," Michael tries again, praying that she will soon become too tired to argue.

Jane does fall into silence, but it only lasts for a few seconds. "Michael, we must put on posters of your sister."

"Mom, _please_ – "

She shakes her head. "No, no. You listen to me now. We must find her before something happens. What good will the police do, if they are taking too long?"

He understands where her logic is coming from – in urgent situation progress seems to be moving slowly. Michael has been restless, since a few days ago, as well. After Nancy's call, he had had a sick feeling in his gut but had simply waited till morning to alert the authorities. That is one regret he is carrying and one that he hasn't dared to confess to his mother. He isn't that sure how much the police has told her about his involvement in this case. It is merely his hope, that he will get to tell her everything soon enough when he has enough strength…

"But what good would panicking do either?" He finally asks back, looking at Jane deep into eyes again. "Sis would want you to take care of yourself."

"I know that," she admits, a bit strain in her tone, "but… I am just afraid that she is in trouble."

Without Jane knowing, her words have sent a piercing stab into her only son's chest. Their hands are still locked together, and he tries not to tighten his grip and make his discomfort obvious. He guesses it is only natural for her to think this way, considering how leisurely and unremarkable Nancy has made her life outside the hospital seem like – going to work, visiting Jane, taking care of the house and Michael, the list just continues. This is like a sudden stop against a wall for them.

"Michael," Jane takes a hold of his hand with both of hers, "are you certain that you didn't hear _anything_ from Nancy that night?"

He gives her a tight smile. "I already told you. She was picking me off from work and dropped me off at a friend's house."

"And you didn't hear a thing from her after? Not even a call?" Despite being the sick one, Jane's grip is strong as steel around her son's hand. Compared to that, the expression and the look in her eyes are that of a lost and helpless child's. "Please, tell me the _truth_. I can't stop worrying."

There it is, again. That feeling of guilt, which would not let him sleep for an entire night. When he had arrived here this morning and seen his mother with the policemen, he had thought about telling her everything possible. However, what had come out of his mouth were half-truths. Keeping things vague is the best solution if he takes note of his mother's current health. She should not be given too much information – not the subjects and thoughts of Nancy actually involving herself into a wrong crowd and getting the money they needed and used or how Michael thinks Edmund is linked to all of this.

Jane wouldn't be able to process it, in his eyes. She would only worry more and… in a worst case reject the treatment she has been given. What kind of mother would want to use her child's money that has been earned by wrong methods? It is what Michael fears and what he can't allow to happen.

As his hand tightens once again around his mother's, he recalls the sound of his sister's voice through the phone. That teary tone she had used haunts him. And now that Jane has asked the question, he can recall the call with even more vivid details and holds back a shudder.

" _Just take care of mother, alright?"_

He feels his own eyes tearing up and curses himself for that. He has not cried in front of his mother or sister in a long time.

" _And for once, do as I say… please."_

"I am sorry, mom," he whispers and looks at her. He hasn't taken this into account in a long time, but her eyes are really just like his and Nancy's. "But I do not know anything."

He would need to go through this alone, with no sibling or parent to support him. It is only he who can protect Jane, now. And Michael feels completely lost without his big sister by his side when realizing this. _Sis… please come back._

* * *

The times when I sleep are the most peaceful times of my life. Ever since I was a child, going to sleep has always been my shelter – dreaming of being far away from the reality or problem I am facing. Whenever I had a bad day, going to bed early was my surviving mechanism. In my tired state, I wouldn't be thinking of what has happened and lose myself to a dream world.

In fact, I even pretend sometimes that reality doesn't exist. That pretty much sometimes sums up my personality, someone who is in denial half of the time when things don't go as planned. That is why, I wish for the dreams to continue, no matter what I might miss during that time.

My eyes are dry, red and the salty tears that have dried on my skin have left chalky texture behind. Every time I try to move my facial muscles, it feels tight. The rest of my body is no better. It's like experiencing a shutdown on your own limbs. They refuse to move and stay extremely still in the same position. From the hard ground next to a tree, in the middle of the forest, I can't feel my toes or half of my feet anymore. Still, I refuse to inch.

 _Let me go._

Despite the outer part of me showing almost no reaction, save for the rapid eye movement and a slight trembling of my hands, my inner self is screaming. The large muscle – the heart – is beating inside my chest so loudly that I would not be surprised if the outside world could hear it. I am rather surprised that I have not urinated at this point. When the adrenaline levels rise in a human body, the body naturally tries to get rid of any kind of limiting factor. I am pretty certain that I should feel hunger and tiredness as well. But I have stayed wide awake throughout the night.

A bitter smell reaches my nose. I have almost forgotten how I puked the moment I was set down to the ground – it is the only reason why we have stopped… probably.

The sun is rising, the air chilly, yet, it's certain that goosebumps spreading on my skin are not the cause of coldness alone.

The man has not uttered a single word, just like me. But his silence is voluntary, mine is triggered by fear of a trapped animal. He is standing opposite of me, eyes downcast and a greenish cap covering his face's upper features. The specks of his hair are poking out, there is a wide sheet of paper spread open in his hands – a map.

 _Where is he taking me?_ Somehow, I do not think I will get an answer. Not to mention my throat is nearly clenched shut.

He is distracted, but I can't move. I can only keep an eye on him in case he decides to get rid of a witness. The thought has made my once warm blood turn into icy liquid. The skin around my throat aches, the large part of my stomach ache as a reminder what this man can do.

I nearly shake my head in a horrified daze – _this isn't a man._

He had looked more like a monster to me during the night. He has carried me so effortlessly through this forest that seems never-ending.

Suddenly, the large male starts folding the map. In reaction and instinct, I stiffen and bite my teeth so much together that it hurts.

Suddenly, my brain is very awake and _extremely_ aware of my position. We are both alone in a forest, surrounded by trees and basically just nature, empty of human life. A perfect place to dispose of a body.

 _No._

He stands up, his full height that of a giant's. Under the brim of the cap, the haunting eyes turn towards my much tinier and now violently trembling form. Sure, he was intimidating in the dark, but in a broad daylight, I feel naked, bare even.

In my head, I am screaming and a small sound – a whimper – comes from the back of my throat. The sickening image of what happened last night flashing in my mind. He killed those men. This creature is a murderer.

 _Don't come here._

He takes a step – my back meets with the bark of a tree.

 _D-don't…_

By the time he is only a foot or two away his shadow has engulfed me, and I am crying. Silently letting tears trail down my face. There is no way that I could even properly let out a sound. My gaze is blinded by my eyelids that have now been closed tightly. I am clutching my hands in desperation.

If only I hadn't thrown up everything my stomach contained earlier, because I would definitely do it now. My entire body is rejecting this man's very presence only a breath away. Cold chills travel up and down my spine.

Every bit of air left in my lungs vanishes, when a large hand wraps around my forearm rather easily. A tremor goes across every bone I have and a strangled scream rips past my lips when I am lifted up with a single tug. I do not have my own strength; my limbs are trembling, and my mind is scattered. So, I am standing on my jelly-like feet in a second without much resistance.

Slowly, shakily, lift my eyes up to the towering man and feel yet another chill down my spine. My skin crawls from the spot I am being touched.

He doesn't once again say anything but tugs my arm once and then crouches down. I yelp, snake-like crawling spreading further long my skin, when I am placed on the shoulder once again.

"N-no! P-p-put m-m-m-me d-down," my voice wavers between a squeak of horror and a petrified whisper, all coming out in a dangerous wave of stuttering, "p-please."

The forest floor seems so far below. The brown locks form a curtain around my view, narrowing my view to the point I feel like looking through a tunnel – there is light at the end of a tunnel.

I want to throw up again, my head spins in dizziness.

My kidnapper – the psycho – stops, which makes every possible muscle in my body stiffen, turning my every limb further into stone. The heart in my chest has nearly stopped beating again. I know that I want the man to stop, I know that I don't want to be carried like this again, but I feel like my mouth has betrayed me. The color on my face must be white as a pile of snow.

There is no movement, no sound, expect the birds' chirping that sound too far away and nothing but chilliness in the morning air.

 _He is angry,_ the words echo hollowly, a too late of a warning from the consciousness. _He is going to_ _ **kill**_ _me._ Those men he took care of… I know that they weren't exactly good. They had tried to invade into my car and do gods know what to me, but they didn't deserve it. And I am not too sure if I deserve this either.

It's unexpected – no, I am fully prepared, when there is a tilt and I am starting to slide down. However, the very second, I am set down, I fall down to my knees, hands coming up to shield my head from instinct.

"P-please, d-d-don't k-kill m-me!" Tears and snot block the airways and the words come out as chokes.

Without a doubt, I look pathetic. But there is nothing I can do at this point anymore. I have managed to anger a psychopath.

I wait and wait for the pain in thick silence and flinch when a hand wraps around my forearm for the second time. It's just as firm as it was the first time, but a terrible shudder goes down my spine from the touch. _He is going to break my arm!_

However, the minute horrifying thoughts and fears flash behind my tightly closed eyelids, I can only feel a soft tug on my trembling limb. It is so _not_ -harsh that the breath stops flowing into my nose and lungs and I am left frozen on the spot. All I can see is the green grass with some of a nearby tree's root peeking out from the earth and into the sunlight breaking through the mass of leaves hovering above the forest floor.

The hand doesn't let go but continues by giving another soft tug.

Very slowly, I turn my head up and feel yet another horrible shudder going down my back.

Those dull red eyes, peeking under all of the light mass of hair and the end of the cap, are staring down at me. The man does not say anything, nor does he look away – it is if he doesn't have a voice of his own.

"W-what?" The question comes out shakily and I bite down on my tongue, feeling like collapsing despite not even standing. Fear that he might be plotting to kill me, I speak again, struggling not to sound like a crying mess. "I-I a-am sorry, b-but I c-can't b-be on your shoulder. I-I w-will t-throw up."

I can't believe how much I am shaking or how my voice trembles like that of a little girl's. There have been times when the situation has made me feel very uneasy to the point my stomach started hurting, but now I can barely think. Every small movement or a fleeting thought of what might happen makes my mind turn blank and quiet.

However, the tugging doesn't stop, and I start to feel like my pathetic pleading and explaining have gone to deaf ears. Despair fills my chest and a single tear escapes from my eye. _I am dead._ Of course, this man wouldn't give a damn of how I feel or think. He would sooner leave me here to die or throw me down a cliff, before listening to a hostage. Unlike me, those men back at my car definitely suffered, so no doubt my end will be worse if I have been allowed to breathe this long.

Suddenly, the hand holding mine lets go and my limb drops down. I freeze, closing my eyes and waiting for the pain, once again, but when I only hear the rustling of clothes, I have to open them. Though, what I see makes the gears within my head slow down again, because my kidnapper has crouched down with his back to me. _H-huh – what? W-what is he…?_ My mind trails off as I continue staring at his back in utter puzzlement.

When neither of us moves, the silver-haired one – I am still compensating, if he is albino – turns his head slightly to see me over his shoulder. I can't make any sense of his blank stare or expression and wonder for a second if he even knows how to speak or make different emotions appear on his face. It would be frightening if he doesn't.

Slowly, I keep our eye contact intact, before looking at his back. The silence is deafening, so I try quickly figuring out what the man wants from me. My eyes trail to his back and to his gloved hands which are hovering next to it and an idea starts to form in my head very hesitantly. _He can't be…_

"Y-you w-want me to g-get… on y-your… back?" I swallow thickly, cautiously testing the waters.

A moment goes by, some bird chirps in the distance. Heart in my throat, I look carefully up at the man and see that he does not stop staring at me. It makes me feel uneasy and cold sweat trails down my back. I start fretting that I made a huge mistake by asking. But when another heavy moment of silence comes by, he makes a small movement with his head – a nod.

Something drops in my gut, like a heavy rock, as I look back at that one bizarre red orb. It may not be the wisest thing to do, but I am pretty certain that I am looking at him as if he is crazy – which he is. After brutalizing those men, chasing after me into the dark forest, carrying me over the night through it and generally just terrorizing me to death, he is actually expecting me to get on his back willingly? The thought makes me feel worse and I am left frozen like a rabbit onto the ground with very limited choices to make. There is no telling what will happen if I refuse to do as he says. It is very strange enough that he even listened to me earlier and is now trying to compromise. Just how far can he be pushed? I do not really want to know an answer to that.

 _But…_

"W-where are y-you t-taking me?" I finally manage to ask, my shaking hands gripping the ground's grass.

No answer, not even a blink or a nod again. It is as if the man is ignoring my question, now. I begin to feel desperate and a round bump forms in my throat, blocking any sound and making it hard to breathe. He is the one who dragged me all the way here – an unfamiliar territory where there would be no escape for me and no place to hide either.

"P-please, t-tell m-me" I beg, unshed and new tears finally coming out, as my emotions start climbing up. "J-just… why?"

Why did you kill those men? Why did you chase after me? Why are you here? Why am I here? Why keep me alive? The questions just keep on appearing, but I can't form them with my mouth. And when the man keeps on staying silent, I start simply feeling defeated. _He… isn't going to tell me_ _ **anything**_ _?_ I do not remember the last time when I have been feeling this down and conflicted what to do. I am not sure whether this person is keeping me with him out of whim or we actually have a direction. The latter seems more likely since he had a map out earlier. But what will happen after that mysterious destination is reached?

My kidnapper is built like a bear. If I try escaping, he might catch and punish me. Even in the dark last night, he had found me, which is beyond terrifying, when you think about it. Is there really no way for me to escape him?

The tears remain on my face, but the rest of my body starts to shakily move forward. _I-I have to… do this,_ is what I am thinking, as my arms hover over broad shoulders, fighting an urge to just throw myself away and the sensation of my skin crawling. This is wrong on so many levels, but if I do not go along with the flow, I might as well end up dead sooner.

 _Michael… mom…_ Their faces flash behind my eyelids, once I close them tightly.

Instinctively, I start to think about writing this down on my diary, but feel once again downcast, when I remember that I didn't take it with me.

I have my arms wrapped around the large man, now, and I struggle against the desire to throw up when his support the back of my legs by the knees. In a second, I am lifted up and resting my entire weight on my kidnapper… It is a new nightmare all over again.

* * *

Despite being afraid, thinking of how I could die here in the wilderness, my head has lolled from tiredness without my notice on the man's shoulder. The sun is still high up in the air, though. But I still feel like sleeping off my stress and worries, since it was horribly interrupted before. It is funny, how my tense body can finally give in to tiredness and stay extremely unmovable on a killer's back. Sounds like stuff from a sick horror film.

I am beginning to really think that I am dealing with more than a killer here, though. And that thought scares. He has been walking nonstop even with me on his back. And I know that I am not a particularly light person nor is this man weak judging by how much muscle I can even now feel underneath the thick cloak, but something feels off. He hasn't made a sound through his mouth – an eerie silence – and neither has he stumbled, tripped or struggled to make his way through the woods. In fact, he moves without making noise, despite his towering size and boots, which also makes me feel even more uneasy.

Blinking my tearstained eyes – he hasn't even shown signs of discomfort or irritation to that – I let my arms relax a bit. The thought of strangling him from this angle has popped into my mind, but so has the fact that he could easily throw me off. Also, because I have taken this much detail into consideration, I have also started thinking of how he had found me in the dark forest last night.

 _Did he run so fast that he was able to catch me? No, I am pretty sure I could have heard it… probably. Did he use some kind of night vision glasses or… no. That kind of stuff sounds too fictional. Does he work for someone? For one of those people, I and Ed stole from? Is that what this is about?  
_

Suddenly, my thoughts are cut off, when the man stops absurdly, and my entire body stiffens again. Very slowly, he lowers himself and I feel how his arms start to loosen around my legs – he is putting me down.

 _W-what now?_ is what I want to ask but seal my mouth tightly. Even if I ask, I doubt I would get any answers. This man has to be a mute.

When he has set me down, the silver-haired man merely gives me one glance and points the ground: 'stay', is what first comes to my mind from this action. And I suddenly start feeling like I am a dog being ordered. Nonetheless, I give a small nod and that seems to be enough for him because he turns around and starts walking away.

However, my relief for privacy and maybe a chance of escape are halted, when he comes back almost as soon as he left. He has a bunch of sticks and woods on his hands and I continue watching his every move like a hawk. What I see throws me off a bit, though. My kidnapper seems to be starting a fire and I once more feel uneasiness growing tenfold. Those emotions explode, when he pulls out a lighter from the cover of his coat and flames start flickering.

I take a small step back and look around carefully – nothing else, but forest from every direction is surrounding us. And for the second time, I feel helplessly alone and small. This place would be a perfect spot for a murder to happen. The soil of the earth would merely work as a coverup.

Without noticing it, the strength has slowly been leaving from my body and I end up sitting on the ground. The fire grows and starts eating the pile of wood gathered for it, surely spreading across every individual piece. _Is- is he going to e-eat me?_ That could be possible, considering how otherwise inhumanly the man has proven to be.

"H-hey," my mouth is trembling, and I have to bite down on it once to make it stop – a futile effort. My small and shaky voice has caught the man's attention, though and he pauses on what he is doing. I try not to start crying when our eyes meet across the 'campfire'. "W-what i-is g-going to happen to m-me? W-where a-are we g-going?"

All I am given is a blank stare and it frustrates me even more. I can't stop myself from glaring at the man, despite my otherwise quivering form. But even from this, he does not change his blank expression – I am not sure if he even has one, considering how the collar of his coat covers half of his face.

After a moment of tense silence, he looks away and continues watching the fire. It is as if I do not exist nor do my questions matter.

 _Seriously? No response? Nothing?_ If he wasn't my kidnapper and a dangerous one, I would surely start demanding answers with impatience. I am pretty sure that even now my face is flushing, as I try holding myself back, but the irritation dissolves in a second when I see what he pulls out next from his cloak. _I-is that my...?_

It is a medium-sized book and my insides turn cold when I see it being lowered towards the flames.

"W-wait! No! Don't!" The words come out without much of a thought and I stumble up to stand.

Both raising my voice and standing up have an effect because the hand holding the book pauses and red eyes slide over to me. The stare makes me freeze, but my own attention is also going towards the small diary he is holding.

"That is mine!" If the situation was different or at least somewhat better, I would have flushed by how childish I am sounding. Instead, I pale considerably. "I-I m-mean… please don't throw it away?"

The man doesn't once again blink or give any visible reaction, which delivers a cold chill down my spine. He is just as unmoving as a rock and the diary he is still holding remains dangerously close to the growing flames and it only makes my inner turmoil worse. I am not thinking or wondering how and when he managed to look through my stuff but am more worried about that simple diary that hides my deepest thoughts and memories. To see it all of those disappear into ashes… it would definitely make me break and have a panic attack.

"Please, can you… give it t-to me?" I try again, voice much calmer and more collected.

I might as well be asking too much. If he was about to throw it away, he must not see any value in it or simply wants to destroy the proof of my existence with it. The latter makes cold sweat trail down my back and I suddenly wish that I could have merely stayed on the ground – my hands are trembling again.

Something new happens, though. The red eyes break the eye contact to glance at the diary once, before returning to look at me. It is something entirely new and makes me shudder for a moment, fear once again growing. _He moved, he moved, he moved – technically his eyes, but – he moved!_

This is the first time I have seen him do something like that and not merely stare blankly or merely nod. He did the latter only once, but…

My thoughts pause, when the diary is drawn away from the fire. The man eyes are once more locked onto me, motionless. I stiffen, watching in return what his next move will be and to my horror, he stands up. Whether it is for intimidation or not, I start taking steps back, when he takes ones forward and to my direction. Heartbeat raising and close to bursting out of my chest, my mind turns blank and I am left completely helpless, not knowing, if he is upset or irritated by my request.

A noise of surprise and dread comes out from the back of my throat when my side collides with a tree and I am frozen to the spot. Even if I tried bolting now, there are few thick bushes surrounding me and trees covering almost every possible escape route with their branches. And even now the biggest threat keeps on approaching.

I can barely feel a thing – my entire body grows numb as I observe him through watery vision.

However, instead of feeling pain, I am left puzzled once again from his confusing actions. The man holds the book out to me when he is standing mere two or three feet away. Still, my body remains in a locked state, despite no harm being shown to it.

He is truly tall, I remind myself. Twice my width and probably more, when considering my size. And when my gaze flickers shakily between the diary and his face, my mouth grows dry. I have been right when I observed how the expression on the man's face doesn't seem to change. Even if what he wears are contacts, they don't change how blank his stare is otherwise, so void of emotion and light that it almost seems as if he is asleep. _What… what is he?_

I have to tear my eyes back down to my diary and try and stop the shaking my body is doing. _I have to stay calm._

Slowly, extremely so, I lift my hand and reach out to the book. From an outsiders' point of view, my hand and his are two completely opposite – a white-gloved and unmoving one and the other shaking like a leaf and dirty fingernails.

I recall what I thought before getting on this man's back: _I have to survive… n-no more risky experiments. That_ is what I think, but also feel unsure about my resolve. _But how long can I take this?_

Something warms my chest when I finally manage to grab my diary. It is relief and it is almost enough to melt my stiff expression away. I quickly pull the small book closer, holding it with both of my hands as a shield.

"T-thank you," is what comes out of my mouth, next. Although, it sounds too hesitating and it is the best one I can mutter.

However, I suppose I shouldn't expect any kind of reaction and I am absolutely right. The silver-haired man doesn't say anything and merely turns around and heads towards the fire. I put on a note how his boots barely make any sound, again, and then look back down at the diary. _He gave it back – that was rather easy._ The question remains why he was about to throw it and then with no trouble gave it back. _Maybe he is civil…?_ The flashback to last night makes my thoughts pause. _No, he is a brute._ Despite not having given me any physical marks, he has definitely screwed me up mentally. I can still feel how my gut twitches from the memory of those men screaming in horror. I don't exactly know what he did to those poor souls, but that can be left as a mystery. _He probably gave this back to make me let my guard down._

My thoughts are once again halted when I see the large man start walking away from both me and the fire. This time, he does not give out any sign of telling me to stay put – not that he needs to since my body already feels as if it has been glued to the ground. My heartbeat has not slowed down either. _Where is he going now?_

And just like the first time, the man soon comes back, but not without his hands full. However, unlike when he carried firewood, the sight makes my stomach flip around and I have to cover my mouth.

He is carrying a limp form of a brown rabbit, white-gloved hand clutching the ears. The small creature looks simply immobilized from the hold, but then it is clearly _dead_ when it is placed on the ground and it does not make a move to stand up and run. A small and panicked voice tells me that it might only be unconscious, though. But it is only when I spot how the neck is in a what appears a strange angle that I feel another chill down my spine.

My entire body is so frozen up that I can merely watch the silver-haired man sit down and take once again hold on the animal. His other hand moves swiftly and…

 _RRRIIIIIIIIIIIIPP!_

…there is a sickening sound of tearing in the air. Flesh is revealed, but no splatter of blood flies around like the process is simply that of taking a coat off.

The hand covering my mouth clenches, fingernails digging into the skin of my face. _Oh my god…_ it is true that I have forgotten hunger – I am not sure when it happened – and that my stomach is empty, but suddenly I get a sensation of something trying to climb up from the far end of my throat. _No, not again._ I close my eyes tightly, determinate to fight off the feeling of nauseous and an urge to scream. My entire body recoils, though, almost falling limply to the side to lean against a tree. _Don't look, don't look, don't look!_

Whether it is because I saw how easily the fur was skinned off or the sight of a dead animal, I feel sick.

Just when did this man even manage to get the rabbit? I can only hope that it was dead by the time he found it.

There is a further sound of ripping and I have to place my hands over my ears as well, the diary forgotten and dropped down onto my lap. I can feel another set of tears stinging in my eyes and bite down on my tongue. _Why is this happening to_ _ **me**_ _?_

" _This is why you should have run."_

I shudder, eyes shooting open and closing again from a sudden pain inside the skull. My hands tighten around my head, tightening from the sharp sensation and clutching my greasy hair. The pain is like a snake, it bites down deeply and wraps around to choke the life out. However, it fades quickly and my shoulders slump visibly from the lack of strain on them.

Slowly, I open my eyes and let them wander around the area, even past the man and the dead animal corpse. The ache from a headache remains and it is a reminder of the strange echo of what I had heard. Although, it is also what makes a confused expression form on my face. The fear and distress I felt are gone now. They all disappeared, when I heard the strange voice and… _Have I heard it before?_ A strange and nagging emotion of nostalgic makes now a frown appears between my eyebrows. When nothing comes up, the niggling of my inner voice continues making the confusion stronger. I lower my eyes, choosing to stare into flames that create a smoke trail up into the air. _Was it my imagination?_

My questions and thoughts are cut off when a strong smell of what I can only describe as burning meat reaches my nose. I look up immediately and feel once again how my stomach twists in discomfort – the skinned rabbit is being held over the fire with a stick pierced through it. I start feeling sick over again from the sight. The crazy man isn't really expecting us to eat that, right?

I start only to hope that he is merely looking after his own health and will not forcibly feed me.

A shudder travels across my body and I quickly scoop the diary off my lap. I really wish to fall into oblivion and maybe knock my head across a tree's trunk – just how long can I take this anymore, before I become messed up in the head? Just how can I escape from this man?

I am not really sure, how long I sit there wallowing up in self-pity and fear, but when I am torn away from my thoughts, there is a piece of meat at the end of a stick being held before me.

Taking my time, I look up, stiffening from meeting the piercing red eyes. They are dull when meeting boldly mine and the hand holding what is supposedly my "food" pushes the piece of meat closer to my face. It is a piece of the rabbit – probably a foot – and it is browned all over and steaming. It is exactly this what makes my face twitch with uneasiness and disgust. I am recalling over and over again that tearing sound of its fur and the sight of the more pinkish flesh.

Slowly, I shake my head, sweating under the intense gaze. "No t-thanks. I am not… hungry."

It may not be wise to reject the offer, is what I think after the words leave from my mouth. Of course, I may not feel the hunger, now, but there is no doubt my body is screaming for it. It has been hours since I last got anything to eat. However, another wave of nauseous pain passes over, when the smell of the meat hits my nose for the second time.

The man does not back away. He stays extremely still and keeps on looking down at me from his crouched position – we are somewhat close to same height now, but barely there.

"I really don't…" my small voice trails off. I lean away from him, suddenly finding his stare even more disturbing than it already is. _Is – is he angry?_ Whether he is or not, it is impossible to tell.

In the end, I decide to stare at one of the murky and dark green buttons of a long coat. The atmosphere is crushing and heavily silent to the point that I can't almost breathe. The more I think about it, it is only me who will ever talk, and this man can stay quiet for as long as needs. And somehow, I have got a feeling that I will break very soon under his emotionless gaze.

I can stand overbearing customers at the salon, I can somewhat handle the bills and Michael's attitude from time to time – with that kind of list, I have mostly thought that dealing with any kind of person would be easy. However, I have been proven to have been wrong this whole time. My skin starts crawling the longer the silence is dragged on and I clench my diary close to the point one square corner is poking painfully at the flesh of my stomach through the clothes.

 _Just do what he wants,_ the tiny voice inside my head once again pipes up meekly. _Play obedient, that will make him drop his guard –_ it always works in movies and dramas, but the difference is that this is reality and even now my entire body is sweating and trembling from merely thinking of running from this man. The suffocating stench of meat makes me gag and I have to turn my face away and cover it with my hand.

"P-please, I feel sick," I plead, a rather horrifying thought of my own skin being ripped entering my head.

I do not see how he reacts, but my hand covering my face blocks even the airway, now. Heat clashes with cold chills on my head, and blood starts gathering into it. The cover of the diary feels hard on my chest and I squeeze it tighter. _I will never ever want to eat meat ever again._

For what feels like the hundredth time, the man does nothing. I do not feel any pain from a strike of a hand or a kick from a leg, not even a sound of frustration reaches my ears. And when I start to feel dizzy, I have to uncover my mouth and taking in a shuddering breath, heart in my throat.

But it is when I frighteningly look towards the man, he is no longer less than two feet away – he has returned closer to the fire and a stick he had offered is sticking out of the ground just near my feet that are curled nearer to my body. And I look at the steaming piece of meat as if it is a sick joke. _He… really isn't going to force me?_

Baffled, flabbergasted and all other synonyms for those emotions fill both my chest and form similar expressions on my face. I really do not understand what is going through this man's head. He has literally kidnapped me and brought me in the middle of nowhere and is treating me in such a passive manner… This is all the total opposite of what he should be doing. I am very much tempted to try and ask from him again for a purpose to this, but bite down on my tongue in frustration. This person wouldn't answer, it has already been proven. So, what good would further questioning do?

I hug my diary close to my chest. Honestly, not knowing anything about the situation scares me more than what one could imagine. It only makes me worried about what will happen in the future and start to feel my blood freezing over from the thought.

It does not matter what this man's purpose for dragging me along is – I have to run away... somehow.


	6. Chapter 6: Reaching out

**AutumnOrchid: Glad to know that Nancy's and Hans' "conversations" aren't boring. This is my first time writing with this kind of character – a.k.a. Hans – and it feels kind of difficult to adjust the story around that. I like it when there is more interaction, but I guess I have been going the right way. Sorry that it has been a while since the last update, though. :)**

 **Notsae: I agree somewhat that what Nancy considers 'brutish' isn't the worst-case scenario that she could witness. But I also consider the fact that she is mostly an ordinary person (if you don't count how she helped Edmund steal, break into houses and serve as a driver/partner in crime because family's money/health situation sucks at the beginning) and that she has never witnessed the level of violence Hans displayed, when taking care of those men who almost broke into her car… honestly, brutish or not brutish, seeing someone die the way those men do in this story isn't exactly easy to experience for an ordinary person. That is at least my opinion… or maybe I am too naïve? Don't really know. :) Thanks for the honesty, though. I like to explain more about my OCs like this to my readers because I can't exactly get every point of view out in my stories the best way I could. Hope you have been waiting for this chapter, despite the long wait.**

 **Usako: I know how you feel about the need for Hans x OC fictions. It's agonizing that there are so few, too. That's why my heart bleeds a bit from looking how long it has been since the last update. Enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

 _Chapter 6: Reaching out_

* * *

 _It is peaceful here, is what I first think when my eyes open. There are barely any sounds – only birds and the wind – surrounding the area. The sky is covered in clouds, but the scenario is familiar to me. So familiar in fact that nostalgia fills my chest like a flood. Those emotions almost overflow._

 _ **I have been here before.**_

 _It is a countryside road, which is lined up with rows and rows of long golden wheat fields. It stretches far away, like an endless universe. There is no sun shining down on this place, but for some reason, I feel warm. Warmer than I have felt in a very long time. It is like when you have walked through an icy snow pit and entered the safety of a house, basking in the warmth from a fireplace._

 _This is the same road I and my family once drove through. It was years ago when we were still eagerly taking road trips to Scotland. I and my brother would occupy the backseats, while our parents took the front. And I would always look out of the window, admiring or staring, at every passing scene in silent impatience and boredom. This is one of the scenes I liked, though. An endless appearing field – to my childish eyes it all looked like this. An enormous space that makes me appear and feel small and insignificant._

 _I start walking, not having any reason for doing so._

" _You are on your own now."_

 _ **Alone.**_

 _From the sound of the voice, my feet automatically halt. I literally can't move anymore._

 _A figure walks past me and stops only a few feet away. She turns around, long white dress fluttering in the wind and strands of light hair covering her face. Whether she is young or old, there is no telling. The features are unclear._

" _I am finally here, but there is nowhere for you to run."_

 _I don't blink, but frown. "Run? From what?"_

 _Her mouth moves, but not to speak, but to smile. The stranger reaches out her hand, fingers gracing my own hand. For some reason, the act feels ominous and I almost draw my limb away. But even when I can't, the touch sends a sense of calm into my body. It is no touch of ill-will or someone who would wish to harm another._

 _And then she touches both sides of my head, palms covering my cheeks. The act is further confusing, but I do not struggle. In fact, I welcome it. In some ways, this woman reminds me of this field. Both in color and nature – they make my chest tighten in familiarity. Her thumbs grace the skin under my eyes, her own hidden behind long bangs. Just when I think I catch sight of individual eyelashes, they disappear.  
_

" _You poor thing," she croons and then withdraws just as abruptly as she had made contact. The ends of her long fingers drag my strands with them, and I watch as she lets them fall._

" _Who are you?" I ask and try to reach out again, but to no avail._

 _Instead of answering, she smiles again. It is smaller than the previous one and is more like a smirk. Although, the expression is not unkind._

 _ **Do I know her?**_

 _The woman turns around and starts walking and for the first time, I notice her shadow. It is large, stretching as far as the road. The form of it does not match hers, though. It is the total opposite and appears like an angel who is walking next to a monster. The clouds part, but not to show a bright yellow sun above. A single scarlet point in the horizon colors both the heaven and earth in orange and red hues. The comfort and nostalgia are gone in an instant and a hole starts forming in my chest. The warmth is being ripped away from me._

" _This is only the beginning…"_

 _The shadows grow behind me, curling and twisting against the back. At the front, the bright color of red grows to the point where the woman's silhouette is blurred. I am squeezed in-between two spaces. Again, my legs just won't inch._

" _It seems like the monster won't hurt you."_

 _Giant dark jaws, gleaming with white teeth. Open up and inch nearer. Ready to clamp down. Break and tear._

" _But remember to use that."_

 _ **a**_ **N** _ **d**_ **G** _ **e**_ **T** _ **a**_ **W** _ **a**_ **Y** _ **.**_

* * *

There is a scent of ashes and burning in my mouth and nose and I wake up with a start. Everything stays blurry and the back of my throat dries up – for a moment, I have no idea where I am. What is worse is the looming presence above me and a hand holding my shoulder down. The hairs on my body stand up in a matter of seconds.

 _W-who…?_

I am at my side, so the sight of ember from the flames is clear and nearly blinding. They flicker in the fire placed in the middle of a small opening between thick rows of trees. That is enough to move my memory, but not calming. It means that I know what has happened and start sweating again when it becomes clear who is leaning over me. _Please don't tell me…_ Robotically, both my eyes and the head start moving, hands slowly clenching into fists. _What is he d-doing!?_

The person who is the reason for me being in here, the kidnapper, is literally looming. A small scream escapes from my mouth, but the hand placed on my shoulder presses down harder. It is not painful, just a warning for me to shut my mouth. My mind, though, is a different matter. _T-that… Wh-why i-is he – gah!_ The color literally is wiped off from my face.

He continues staring down at me and lifts a single finger in front of his lips. _Be quiet,_ is what he literally says and lets my shoulder go. I do not relax, though, and do not take my eyes off his face.

The absence of the dark green cap is startling. It lets messy and long wavy strands of individual white hairs brush the bridge of the nose, cheeks and even half-cover the blood-red eyes. Both these features make the man seem like a ghost, rather than a living being – that may be my half-asleep state speaking, though. There is a wind, which moves those strands over his features, further highlighting how ominous his appearances are without that hat.

 _H-he is so close._ There is a breath on my face. Not like the chilly wind and my heartbeat only goes faster _._ There is no flicker in his gaze, like in the fire. Not even the slightest sign of a shine that I am used to seeing in people's eyes every time they come to get their hairs cut or merely pass by in the streets.

 _His eyes are so…_

My mouth opens and closes. "G-go away." It is not an exactly subtle way of asking, but it is the best my rattled mind can give. A second later I am even whiter, though. The man doesn't move and my breath hitches. _Is he angry?_

The fears are for nothing, though. He moves and even stands up, after a few very silent moments. And for the first time, I notice the lack of even his jacket. In place of it, he is only wearing a pair of heavy-set boots and pants. There is no shirt and once more I stop breathing and watch the ripe muscles covering his upper body. The arms that I have felt picking me up or holding me down or back all this time are there, not covered by the thick fabric. A single silver tag around his neck flashes in the light of the flames, as he moves back to lean against a tree, just a few feet away. And every move makes my eyes trail at the outlines of the muscles, like drawn to a map with endless paths – it is petrifying.

A single handle of a gun rests in the pocket of his hip.

I am left frozen, every piece of me tense. I have finally seen it. This man is not only strong. He could really rip or break my neck, just like what he did to those other men.

 _His eyes are…_

I feel cold and tug on the blanket to – _wait. A blanket?_

Surprise slackens me and my eyes dart down at the long and thick coat covering me from the chest down. It is easy to recognize and my gaze darts back to the man. His eyelids are closed, long pieces of his bangs making it harder to see them. He is definitely trying to sleep, though.

Again, the silence is deafening, but it is steadily being broken by my rising heartbeat. I have been unconsciously clutching his jacket until now, but my fingers are beginning to slowly let go. I hate to admit it, but I feel warm while wrapped around the fabric. The size difference between me and the make-shift blanket is humongous. _When did he put this on me?_

 _His eyes…_

My fingers grace the fabric. Something tightens in my chest. The sensation warms its way further and is… almost warm. Although, realizing this only startles me and I lay back down. The warmness is replaced by a chill and I shudder. It is sickening – for a moment I was touched and now I wish to throw this jacket off and wash my skin until it is bloody raw.

I do not want to soften my resolve, my anger and sorrow. Even when…

 _His eyes are so dead._

* * *

It is frustrating. The fact I can't write on my diary is utterly tearing me from the inside. There is nothing to write with. The best I could do is gather up some dirt from the ground and soak a stick into it – I am not about to try this.

And so, I can currently pass my time forward by laying on the ground, looking up at the sky, wishing to be back asleep. The small diary lays on my stomach, right arm clutching it closer unconsciously from any slight sound. Whether there are rocks and stick sticking into my back or not, I have come to ignore those sensations. Everything in me is numb, alert and ready to flinch from slightest things.

I am tired, physically and mentally. It has already been two days – unless all of this madness has messed with my senses in a more severe way – and the silence of the forest around me is maddening. Two long days I have been carried or I have walked through the wilderness. Not once seeing any signs of civilizations. _Is this really still the same continent?_ There are only so many trees a state can only things that give me some relief are that I have my diary which holds memories and the headaches have ceased. Now, only the soreness of my muscles gives me daily doses of pain and reality.

As if to test my immobile state, a smell of burnt flesh invades my nostrils and my facial features twitch.

I turn my head away, bangs covering my eyes. "I… I am not hungry…"

 _Leave me alone._

He may not say anything, but I know that the silver-haired man is there. Just crouching next to me in muteness and holding out my 'dinner'. This is how we mostly communicate; I speak, and he stays silent in every possible way, save for a few gestures like this one.

However, he has proven to be both patient and persistent. A strange combination in a kidnapper and murderer. He hasn't harmed me, not even when I refuse food like this. His presence merely stays near, like a giant cloak or shadow, constantly keeping an eye on me even when his back is turned. Choking the air out of my lungs without even trying. He is scary and I am meek.

When I turn my head, the man has once again moved away without making much sound. His giant form is settled next to a tree a few feet away and he leans against it, cap shadowing his eyes.

My dry eyes trail from him next to my head where the piece of smoking animal – a squirrel – meat has been left. It has been skinned and cooked by the fire that has been put out. This is mostly what I have been given during the days, but I barely eat them. It is both disgusting and my appetite vanishes whenever I see them. It is like I eat to give permission for the man to keep me captive.

Still, survival instinct and desire to even see my family for the last time kick in every time I think about starving myself. My hands start twitching, as an inner battle between my head and heart begin and I end up reaching out for the food. The familiar nausea sensation in my stomach rises up and I bite down on my tongue.

I really am conflicted how I should feel about eating small rodents for the first time in my life.

 _Don't breathe in the smell… just eat._

And so, I eat. The meat goes down my throat so quickly that I can barely taste a thing. My gut wrenches and during the moment of repulsion from imagining pieces of small fur strands in my mouth, I bend over and start coughing. The food has gone down the wrong way and burns the inside of my throat.

Just my luck.

In a few seconds, the large man's presence is next to me, but I barely knowledge him. I am too engrossed in trying to get my airways open. Then, something hard is placed in front of my mouth and I freeze, nearly forgetting that I can't breathe properly. I jerk back but freeze from the sensation of a large palm planting itself firmly on the back of my head, keeping me in place. Through coughing and blurred vision, I finally see a silver flask held just a few inches away. It is the same one I have been drinking from for the past few days and immediately take a hold of it, not even minding how the side of my palm brushes with the fabric of a gloved hand.

The fingers splayed in my strands let go and I become slack, greedily gulping down the cold liquid. I try to ignore the man, but the longer I pretend drinking and trying to regain my breath, the more ridiculous it seems. In place of me, there is a desperate child searching for an excuse not to look at an adult. Even though the flask is cold and solid, providing no comfort whatsoever, I clutch it.

He is not touching me anymore, but it still feels like I can't move. He has not hurt me, but…

Every muscle in my body tenses. The heart behind my ribcage beats faster than a drum could. And although my senses feel muffled, I can feel how my shaking begins to soften. For the first time, in this unbelievable situation, clarity seems to spread in my mind. It is a small hope, very faint, but it is there nonetheless – I am starting to become hopeful.

This person doesn't communicate, but that doesn't mean that I can't and that he won't, given time.

Slowly,I lift the flask and keep my eyes steady on one of the buttons of the dark green coat. The smell of smoke from the fire waffles in the air and I swallow thickly, words getting stuck in my throat.

When I speak, it is with a small voice. "Thank you."

 _Please, God, anyone, give me strength._

The man doesn't move, he stays crouched down and I do not dare to lift my gaze up any further. But eventually, he takes the flask, without a word as usual. It isn't discouraging, though. In fact, I feel the total opposite. So much so that my hands start shaking violently again. As the man stands up, those emotions still don't fade.

After all, usually he takes that same flask from me much faster.

* * *

There are actual solid roads in front of me. It is not made out of dirt or by parting some bushes to create a small one, but actual cement. And that is not the only thing that almost has me crying – actual houses stand just further ahead of where we are at. Cars drive by and the sight of movement causes my hands to clench around my diary in silent anticipation.

I had no idea how much I missed civilization, the noise, and the smell of fuel. It has never once looked as beautiful as it is now in the light of a setting sun. The sight is ethereal. Breath barely travels in and out of my lungs from merely looking at it.

It is a town, full of human lives.

 _Why are we here?_

Foolishly, I actually look at my ever so silent kidnapper. There must be a reason for the sudden contact with other people and not knowing it is frightening. That fear of the unknown is also why I am trying to inch slowly away. He is also staring at the town, there is nothing that keeps me bound to him. I could get away. If we were to get down to the streets and I could get my hands on someone or even a phone, then I could contact help. It all seems so easy and merely a few inches out of reach.

I could be saved.

Suddenly, the man's hand raises and clamps itself down on my shoulder. It draws a yelp from me – this was the last thing I expected to happen, and I stiffen up, cold sweat trickling down my spine. Without meaning to, my gaze shoots up in a moment of confusion up to his face – a mistake. His dull red eyes are staring down at, the shine of the golden sun behind him only casting an enormous shadow over his face.

"W-what?" I ask shakily, the hand on my shoulder burning its mark on my skin. I fight the desire to slap the large limb away and take steps back.

For the second time, I foolishly think that there will be an explanation. He continues looking down at me, eyes boring into my soul. And I keep quivering beneath that penetrating gaze. Then, he lifts his other hand and from reflex, my eyelids close tightly. However, instead of feeling pain or something else near unpleasant, the hood on my hoodie shifts and is lifted up. I feel the way it moves my hair to tickle my jaw and then settle on top of my head.

 _He… put my hood on?_ The bafflement is enough to make my eyes open again to see his hands retreat. The absence of weight on my shoulder is almost enough to make my buckling knees give out.

The man doesn't even blink, as his eyes stay on my confused expression. He doesn't even make an indication of doing anything else to me when he suddenly turns around and starts walking down a road. The long end of his coat flutters in the evening wind and I am left standing there like a frozen rabbit.

"Why are we here?" I ask, surprised by how calmly it comes out.

The man doesn't even turn around and keeps on walking, clearly expecting me to follow after him. He isn't worried at least that I would try running away – I am expected to follow. Despite being in a place surrounded by things that I could use to alert the authorities, nothing has changed from the trekking in the woods.

I nearly huff in frustration and frown, incredulous. _Fine,_ I want to spit, _don't tell me!_

As if knowing the inwardly seething directed at him, the pair of red eyes look over the broad shoulder. Again, I stiffen and lower my head, feet moving forward from instinct and following him. He really doesn't need to put much effort into being intimidating.

* * *

My mind is made up, at a single sidewalk. It isn't easy, though. The way I keep on clutching my diary until my fingers lose their feeling and their nerves numb is proof enough. I am, once again, terrified. Running away could prove to end up a failure, but it is the last thing I want to think about. This is a town, there has got to be people around here to hear my screams if it comes to that. But every time I see the image of the gun near the man's hip in my head.

 _What if you drag someone down with you?_

I bite down on my lower lip, keeping my pace as steady as possible behind him. The thought of him taking out that weapon bothers me even now. So, I am really hesitant to think about asking help, but… who says it wouldn't work? All I would need to do is hide inside a house and block the doors until the authorities would arrive. Even if there is someone else inside, we would make it. It isn't like there aren't places to hide from a murderous man. I could survive, nobody would have to die tonight or soon. It would all need stealth and the right moment to run.

Maybe it is because I have been walking and being carried through the forest until now, but at this point, I couldn't care less where I would run for safety. Although, that also is pushed away by some rational side of me. I would need to find a police station or other place where I could contact someone. Maybe my family. But I would also need to know where I am at first. _Where can I run, if I do not know where I am?_ Asking my kidnapper anything has proven to be a failure more than once.

 _First, find out the location and then figure out where to go. And then –_

" _And just like me, I'm sure that they adore you."_

The sound of loud music has an immediate reaction – I look up where it comes from. A car speeds by, slowing down near a gas station. And as if luck would have it, they drive right past a giant sign saying that the place is open twenty-four hours. My eyes narrow, knuckles turning white as an idea forms in my head. _I could go there._

The thoughts of a real escape become overwhelming and I do not even pay attention to anything else. Whatever is in the surrounding area fades, even the way the man in front of me has stopped. I wake up to reality when my face meets with his back and I jump away, startled and horrified.

However, he doesn't react or even look at me and I watch as he walks to the building next to us. Of course, I follow, but not before throwing a look over my shoulder at the gas station one more time.

"Welcome. A room for two?"

I lift my head and let the door close after with a jingle from the bell above it. An elderly man behind a desk has greeted us with a warm smile. Yet, that expression drops the second his small eyes look at the large man up and down. It is clearly obvious how intimidating he is in a small space. A large shadow is literally cast over the worker like a blanket. My heart is leaping out of my chest and I cover it with the diary. I am worried for the man's safety here – it appears as if there is one mice and one elephant in the room if sizes are compared – but am also worried about this location.

This is like a bad ending to a sick horror film where the kidnapper takes his victim in a hotel. And this is a scene nearing the ending credits. My hands begin to turn clammy from the image.

"T-that w-would be f-forty-six a night for each," the man swallows and pushes up his thinly framed glasses, glancing nervously between me and the man.

 _Help me,_ is what I want to whisper, but my mouth remains tightly shut. The money is placed on the table and soon followed after the keys are shakily lowered to the same surface. The gloved hand takes the latter without a word.

"T-the room is on the second floor. Room twelve i-is yours. Have a pleasant stay," the little man stutters as he is clearly trying to gather his wits.

My kidnapper turns towards stairs stationed on the right, just between two shelves filled with decorated trinkets. When his back is fully turned, thought of alerting the man shaking behind the desk flashes in my mind. I wouldn't have to even speak, I could merely give him some kind of sign. _Just a little sign. Something to grab his attention, for him to see that there is something wrong going on in here. Yes, that is it. Someone will notice, he_ _ **has**_ _to notice, or…_

"Miss?"

I freeze – the white-haired man stops by the stairs – and stay still, the diary in my hands staying in a crushing hold.

"Are you feeling alright? Should… should I bring you some dinner?" He asks in a friendly tone, so unlike the frightened one that he used before.

I inhale deeply, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. _Please, just notice._ Slowly, I turn my head and meet his questioning eyes. Without a mirror, I can't exactly tell what my current appearance is, but judging by the pitying change in his expression it must not be too pleasant. I know at least by the fact that my hair is greasy, and my clothes must be covered in dirt from laying on the ground. Still, the look he gives me is enough to make my eyes sting.

 _Don't cry, don't cry._ I bite down on my tongue, fighting the flood that could come out and down my face at any moment.

Our eye contact is broken, though. Abruptly so. It begins with the sound of heavy boots on creaking floorboards and a shadow being cloaked over the front desk. Whatever I am about to say dies and my eyes drop down to the wooden surface. In a second, a familiar gloved hand has placed a stack of money on it and drawn itself back.

"D-dinner?" The stuttering is back, as the manager looks up with uncertainty. When he receives no answer, his hand shakily takes hold of the given money, all the while keeping an eye on the one who gave it. "R-right. S-someone will b-bring you it, s-soon."

I am slowly dying inside from not getting words out of my mouth. The presence of the red-eyed devil has caused all the air around me to vanish. But whatever it is that causes me to look up at him, I curse it. One single eye is peeking from below the rim of the cap and long wavy strands.

I feel like staring straight at the death himself.

* * *

Things don't seem to change no matter where we are. This isn't a forest, but the silence is just the same. And if the smell of wood is anything to go by, then I could merely close my eyes and imagine myself sitting by a fireplace, again.

The best difference is that I am not on the ground, but a soft bed, nearly melting into the mattress. However, there is no relaxation whatsoever written on my posture. I am rigid, knees drawn do my chest and back against the wall, eyes staring straight at the silent man sitting on an armchair. Even while inside a building, he hasn't said a word nor taken off the coat and cap.

A tray of promised and paid dinner is sitting on the table next to the bed I am sitting on. It is untouched and the steam from it is starting to lessen. It is the last thing I have paid much attention to, though. My attention has been bouncing around the room, looking at the door and windows. Then, I keep on looking at every furniture in the room – the kind that I could use – before fixing my gaze on the kidnapper.

He is almost right next to the door – there is no escape.

"…Where are we?" I finally manage to ask, voice rough. _I might be coming down with a cold._ My hands only tighten, resisting an urge to grab the diary next to me and throw it across the room in frustration. "Why am I here? W-what are you going to do with me?" My tone remains bored, almost emotionless, but it cracks at the end.

Not unexpectedly, he doesn't answer. The room remains quiet and I bite down on my tongue. He is staring at me as if waiting for me to pounce or make a run for it. That one look is gratifying, and my tongue dries up. Still, staying in a closed space is far scarier than out in the open forest. In here, the walls are closing in, there is limited space to move in and once again I have no idea why I am here.

Taking in a shaky breath, I curl into a smaller ball and rest my forehead on my knees, hiding my face from the world and from him. Running away now won't work – he won't budge from the door. He will need to be distracted for that to happen, or to fall asleep. I have not seen either of those options happening during the time I have been his hostage. _Does he even sleep?_ Whether he does or not, if he finds out I somehow managed to sneak out, then what are the chances of him 'sniffing' me out and chasing after me? _Like back when he chased me in the forest._ That hadn't been possible. It was pitch black back then and this town has lights in the middle of the night. I would be a single dirt patch on a white shirt, so to say – easily spotted.

Desperation starts filling my chest. It is expected, but lately, it is one of the only emotions I can experience. Desperate to gather money, avoid the law, cover for a friend, take care of Michael… and now to evade a kidnapping murderous maniac. It is funny, but that is all my life seems to be filled with. Ups and downs, right and wrong choices. The worst part is that I still have no clue what choice I made this time around to land me in this situation, to begin with.

Gathering courage and wiping away whatever has started burning my eyes, I lift my head and look at the man again. He hasn't budged.

"You… are you working for the police?"

The muteness in the room is _extremely_ heavy. We are back to staring at each other, but this time I wish to look away instantly. It is like glass shattered the moment I opened my mouth.

To my utter shock, the man makes a movement with his head which can only mean denial. I stiffen, fingers playing with the hem of my hoodie. _No?_ My eyes look at him up and down, taking note once more of the strange outfit.

"A-are you from… this country's army?" I ask again, wetting my lower lip. When there is another shaking of the head as an answer, I start becoming more intrigued, if not confused. "Then… the UK's?" Again, wrong. "Some other country from Europe?"

He doesn't move – I probably already guessed right this time. But that does not clear almost anything up. _Why would some… army or whatever be after me?_ The bottom of my stomach turns cold and I bite down on my lip. I thought this would clear things up in some way, but I am all muddled in the head, instead. _Why is he suddenly answering my questions?_

"Are you from an army, then?" I ask, swallowing thickly. There is a frown forming on my face.

He stays motionless for a few seconds, but that's enough for me. If the guess was wrong, he would move. The answer is ridiculous, though. An army sent after one single woman trying to escape from her country. _What if this is all connected to Germany?_ That wouldn't be too farfetched. I did help breaking into houses there, some of them had been what could be only described as mansions. Wealthy people can become desperate, but… not enough to send a military member. _Since when has anyone done that?_

That leaves me with a final question. But it has nothing to do with why I am here, what I have done or where this man has come from.

"Am I… going to die?"

The way it comes out is definitely that of a small rodent, in a corner and not ready to be devoured. The beating of the heart becomes irregular and this time I do reach out for my diary – the only link for the life before this.

"…"

Now, it is as cold as it is in North-Pole. Everything within me freezes over the longer the silence and lack of movement drags on. The tips of my fingers feel numb and even the warm blood within my veins turns into ice. It still continues flowing throughout my body, though. From my head to my toes, I can almost feel it. The way my heart beats loudly till the sound reaches outside my ribcage, my elaborate quiet breathing that barely comes out of my weak lungs, the noise of my last hope fragment shattering into very tiny pieces – all of these sounds fill my ears until it is painful.

For some reason, all of sudden, every noise disappears. There is nothing. Absolutely nothing around me. Even the thoughts I have evaporate.

 _No escape._

Large tears pool together in my eyes and drop down my cheeks. They burn the eyes but feel cold against the skin. There is now a large hole in my chest, one that keeps on growing and I can't stop crying. A row of whimpers comes out next and I cover my mouth, eyes open and staring emptily at the floor. Nothing seems to matter anymore.

Gradually, the trembling of my shoulders increases, and I start shaking my head. "Y-you – why? What d-did I do? Why are you doing this?"

"…"

My lower lip is also trembling, and I bite down on it. I acknowledge that rationality is starting to leave from my system if I even had it in the first place. I continue speaking, voice shaky and small from either shock or numbness spreading all over my tongue. "You have d-dragged me a-across a forest… for what? J-just w-where – if we a-are going s-somewhere can't y-you just sh-show me?"

As soon as the question comes out, he stands up – I become rigid and back against the wall, pulse jumping out of my chest. _Oh, no, no, no, no!_ He approaches, the sound of heavy boots ear grinding, and stops only a few feet away from the bed. I panic, eyes darting around the place for the second time, but never looking up at his face. No doubt his eyes are just as red as before, I do not need to see those if he has decided to get rid of me.

Pale and clammy all over, I close my eyes tightly and wait for some form of pain. However, nothing of the sort happens. Instead, there is a noise of paper scrunching and my eyelids crack open. There is a large map being spread out in front of me. It shows both the South and North America – a gloved finger points an area at the former.

Carefully, I lean forward and wipe my eyes. The shock has frozen the tears. "W-west Virginia?" The finger continues pointing at it and my jaw slackens. I look up hesitantly, keeping my line of vision on his collar. "Is… is that where we are at?"

He nods – does not stay silent, but nods. I almost shake my head again. _N-no, no, no, that is not right._ The last time I checked, I was at a completely different state. The revelation is staggering, and I start thinking my kidnapper has developed another sick sense of humor. _How did we even –_

He withdraws his hand, snapping me back from the short stupor. I do not even get to give the map second glances, because it is folded and then put inside the man's overlarge coat.

My shoulders slump down. "You aren't going to tell me where we are going… are you?" I do not wait for an answer or even expect a one – the response is quite clear.

For the second time, I curl into a ball and rest my forehead tiredly on my knees. _Was I supposed to be expecting something else?_ This man doesn't show any outward emotions, so he may as well be totally void of any from the inside. First filling me with false hope of getting some information and then crushing those dreams.

Again, there is numbness.

The rustling of paper pauses. I do not look up but do feel my heart clench from the noise of the familiar heavy boots. They head to the side, not towards the chair he had occupied a moment ago. And when there is a clatter next to me, I have to lift my head. The tray of food has been placed there and the silent request – command – is obvious. Still, like many time back in the forest, there is no appetite, my eyes hurt, and I feel like giving up.

This time, I have no escape. He has walked back to the chair and sits down, keeping his gaze on me. I can feel how those red orbs burn my skin, the sensation has become too familiar. _He guards the door._ Unless he falls asleep or leaves for some reason, I can't leave.

There has always been a pattern in my grief. Always first comes the sadness and tears, followed by emptiness and disbelief. The last part is where the anger and rage build up – I could explode. Currently, I am in the second phase – feel nothing, confused and no sense of reality. I imagine myself breaking the window at the side, where the light of a streetlamp barely gets through thin curtains, and then falling towards the cold concrete and smashing my head against it. Of course, soon as that image flashes I am back sitting on the bed, the diary at my side, the kidnapper on the same spot.

 _This is it then?_ I will die soon by his or somebody else's hand if I do not get away… The new time limit – the kind I do not even know yet – raises the pressure. I clench my fists, closing my eyes. I can only hope that the man from before noticed that something was amiss.

* * *

It is around the time when he should start looking through the expenses. The last one of his small establishment's workers has retired for the night. However, the elder manager has a problem – he has been sitting on the edge, fidgeting every now and then while directing his up to the ceiling. It had not been his intention, but the key to the room right above his head has been given to some shady individuals.

This town is peaceful, not once has anyone questioned that. Everything here is monotonously simple. That is why during his fifty-five years of living, never once has he had a customer such as tonight. His hands tapping the accounts are sweaty and he purses his lips in thought.

 _Just another evening._ He wipes off the excess sweat with the back of his sleeve and goes back to typing.

Truthfully, he doesn't want to be judgmental. Every person has their own tastes in clothes, and some are just born the way they are. He doesn't believe that you should judge the book by its cover either, however… _who on earth were those two!?_ The top of the large man's head could have touched the ceiling. He hadn't even said a word to create heavy tension, just silently glared – the manager has no idea what else to call it – and handed the money. Not to mention the woman had been equally as tight-lipped. Although, not as imposing as the man.

Speaking of that woman, _I wonder if she is feeling better?_ The sight of her had really pulled his heartstrings. She had the look of a worn-out person like she has been on the move by foot for days. The hood over the head was barely hiding the woman from the rest of the world.

The elder man starts tapping his fingers against the wooden desk. He had wanted to help her more, but when they were interrupted… There really is something strange going on.

Suddenly, he shakes his head, halting the drumming of the fingers. _No, no. It should be nothing – she was just exhausted._ He looks back up, not detecting any sound coming from there. _That is it, just exhausted._ He has been listening here all this time, expecting muffled screams or other noises. Yet, there has been nothing. Absolute silence and solitude. He has got nothing to worry about…

Faster than lightning, he grabs a phone and dials the emergency number.

" _911\. What is your emergency?"_

He hesitates, wetting his lower lip. "There is a strange man and a woman staying at my hotel. I th-think the woman is in trouble w-with him."

" _Slow down, sir. Could you repeat yourself?"_

"I said," he presses on, exasperated, "that there are two people staying at my hotel. One of them is a suspicious man and the other is a woman. She looked very… upset or worried, shall I say, and I am concerned for her safety. Can you _please_ send the police here, as soon as possible?"

" _Sir, what are – "_

He and the one on the other end can't hear each other anymore – the line is brusquely cut off.

"Hello? Hello?" The elder man looks down at the device in puzzlement. _Did the connection –_

Something cold is pressed against the back of his skull. A shadow creeping past him and blocking the light from the lamp on the ceiling. It is suddenly very freezing inside a heated room and the hairs on the old manager's back stand up.

He can't breathe. There is no mistaking this presence.

The phone slips from his grasp to the floor where the disconnected cord lays.

 _ **BANG!**_

* * *

 _He is not here._

I have just woken up. It is dark, but I am certain that the kidnapper is nowhere in the small room. The fact is groundbreaking, and I quickly jump up to my feet, waiting for someone to appear in the shadows and startle me. But nothing of the sort happens and my heart soars. _I can't believe this!_ I am alone in the room, with no one blocking the door anymore.

The shock travels down my spine as a shudder and my limbs tingle. The door is at sight and I move closer to the handle, holding my breath. And then I twist the cold metal, creaking the door open and letting the faint light from the narrow hallway in. _Calm, just stay calm._ My hands shake on the handle, tightness, and adrenaline taking over my muscles. I can't breathe, again. The air is thin and smells like old pages of a book. _N-no, wait. This can't be really happening, right?_

There is no one standing on the outside.

For the second time, my heart jumps. However, this time I do not wait, but step out of the room, shivering. _He has really gone out._ Almost stumbling, I turn my head away from the main staircase, knowing that that is the last place I should go to. I head towards the emergency exist instead, the sound of drumming heart and rushing blood ringing in my ears.

I can do this, is what the voice inside my head keeps on whispering.

I would need to hurry up before the _beast_ would return to its cave. Otherwise, this opportunity would be wasted. Although, I curse the way my hands start shaking violently on the exit's handle and how I keep on constantly glancing over my shoulders, slowing down my speed. Even when my feet move across the stairs, the sound of their tapping against the stone sounds too loud for anyone on the other side of the walls not to hear them.

During childhood, one of the games I played with friends, and what I both loved and hated, was playing tag. I recall laughing a lot and wanting to continue, despite how every time the parents came to break off our playtime to take us home.

I hated being the one chasing and preferred to be the one who always ran away. It may have been the thrill from the fear of being caught, too, and not struggling to catch up with others.

However, I absolutely hated the skin-crawling sensation on my back from acknowledging the fact that someone was after me. That kind of memory might not suit into this situation, but it's mildly similar – there is me, the one running away, and there is the one who might be coming after me. _Not 'might. He will find out that I left, soon enou –_

 _ **BANG!**_

The moment a loud piercing noise shoots through my ears, I am near the end of the stairs where a large door stands like a gate to heavens. That does it – the heart that had beat wildly in my ribcage a mere second ago has stopped.

Somehow, I know what made that noise… and the cause of it. _He's coming!_

Like a person desperate for air, I reach for the handle, slippery hands nearly sliding down against the metal. With the entire weight of my body, I push with my side against the door's hard surface and let the night air blow in. The coldness hits my face that has lost all of its colors and increases the shivering on the skin on every part of my body.

The door leads to an alley. On the right, there is a brick wall – impossible to cross – and on the left a single car road with streetlights brightening the concrete – a way to freedom. The plan I came up with earlier in that suffocating room comes back in full blow and tears nearly well up in my eyes. Maybe there really is hope for me.

I start running, recalling where the front entrance should be and picking up my pace second by second. The danger and reason for my previous terror hasn't faded, nor is that loud sound from earlier. The direction these feet of mine should be headed to is the gas station and it's gin sight the second I have rounded the corner. Again, hope fills my chest and nearly bursts out of my eyes as tears.

The relief and images of this escape are so strong that the light heading towards me from the side doesn't register in my brain, as I start running across the road. When I do notice, though, it's more than a bit too late to think.

Everything slows down to the freezing point…

The tires screech against the ground and I lose my balance, falling down. The pain of the fall doesn't appear until a few terrifying beats later. The bright light from the vehicle front shines brightly on my stiff expression, no doubt I look like a ghost.

"The fuck you running across the road for!?" Someone yells angrily, the sound of a person who nearly ran over another human being. A door is opened, and they walk out to where I am sitting from shock. "Hey! You deaf and blind!?"

"AJ, stop it! Can't you see that the poor thing is in shock?" Another voice intervenes and I have to blink to see a woman come out of the car as well. Blood is rushing around my head, but even so, I can still distinguish how her face twists from angry to worried. "Hey, hey, sweetheart. Are you alright?"

"She okay?" A third member inside the car asks.

"Hopefully yes. I am not explaining this to the cops."

"Stop it you two," the woman orders sternly and crouches down. When our eyes meet, a puff of breath escapes past my lips as white smoke, showing just how long I have been holding my breath out of instinct. Seeing how there is no other response from me, she frowns with thinly tweezed eyebrows. "Are you hurt? You should really look where you're going."

I do not answer. It's like words are sticking to my throat but can't come out. It's funny – for a moment, I thought for certain that the car was going to hit me before my brain became an empty slate. Now… everything is either too bright or numb.

"Maybe she hit her head?"

For some reason, the last sentence does it and I snap back to reality. I inhale sharply, gaining attention once more. Full sentences don't come out of my mouth, though. I merely reach out and grab the woman by the arms, clearly appearing startling and out of it judging by the expression I receive. Whatever plans I had in my head fly out together with consideration towards strangers' lives.

The sound of the loud bang still resonates within my skull.

"P-please," I wheeze out, finally noticing how much my legs and arms shake and ache. "Help me."

* * *

 **(*hides behind furniture) Don't kill me! – is how I would like to react while posting this, but fortunately I am not. There is a number of reasons for the long wait. You all writers, with issues of your own, understand. Anyway, I would like to report that I have changed the cover for this story. If you want a clearer image of what Nancy looks like, check it out. I drew it myself and it was part of the reasons why I didn't upload this chapter sooner. (*patting myself on the back) A couple of months of art experience can take you far.  
**

 **Comment, review and all that jazz.**


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